Sacrifice
by Seto'swhiterose
Summary: [Dedicated to fallenangel, BxR gemshipping] In Ancient Egypt, the Thief King makes a miscalculation in his relentless struggle against the pharaoh, causing his imprisonment in the deepest dungeons. A certain young innocent has picked up his scent...
1. Chapter 1

Title: "Sacrifice"

Summary: BakuraxRyou, (tendershipping, not an abuse fic, ancient Egypt) In Bakura's relentless fight against the pharaoh, the Thief King makes a miscalculation, causing his capture and imprisonment in the pharaoh's deepest dungeons, left for torture and subsequent death. But a certain slave has picked up his scent…what love blooms in the darkest pits of desperation? And what could possibly come from this illicit romance?

Rating: M for Mature

Category: Romance/Angst

Dedication: This fanfic goes out to my good friend fallen-angel-of-repression. Happy birthday to you! I really hope you like this, (just for you, I've done a lemon with this one)…it took a while to come up with a topic for it; I wasn't sure where to go with the pairing once you gave it to me. But it came out fine once I got into the plot. With any luck, you'll find the same path as I did when reading it. Enjoy it, if you find it within yourself! 02/18/06

Authoress Notes: I'm actually not a professional when it comes to this pairing…I'm so fixated on Seto…(sweat drop)…but I tried my best. Hopefully this isn't a total train wreck, it all depends on what you guys think, though doesn't it? I don't know if there is any OOC-ness in regards to Bakura…I tried so hard with his character but I've literally never written it before, so it was very difficult! And, uh, yeah…Ryou is not really supposed to be in Ancient Egypt. I know that. But for poetic purposes I've changed the story around a little bit. I hope you guys don't mind, (as well as I hope you do not decide to throw rocks at me, because this is not the only change I've written).

Let me state here that I have taken MANY liberties with this story. Many. As in, not a few. I know that nothing in this fic actually occurred in the anime or the manga, but I have taken it upon myself to add these changes. If you don't like this in any way, I offer apologies and a free ride out.

That's about it…Feel free to leave a review if you are so inclined! (just to keep things bright)

Warning: This story contains yaoi, of course, but it's mostly rated for blood. Very bloody. (Did I mention blood?) Important character death. Oh, and, AU, as mentioned above. Beware!

Disclaimer: I really don't own Yu-Gi-Oh…really, I don't! (innocent look)

**Sacrifice**

**Chapter 1**

"Why give yourself up like this, Tomb Robber?"

The Pharaoh's eyes gleamed like priceless rubies nestling smugly just out of reach. His harsh cape whipped around him in the wind, strands of his multicolored hair twisting and blending colors in the turmoil. An entire city lay in shambles around the pharaoh's golden pleated sandals, the smell of burning flesh wafting impatiently through the charred night air. "I have known you to be crazy, but not like this."

Bakura stood facing the pharaoh, arms bloodied up to the elbow with the blood of soldiers that had gotten in the way, or people that had been unfortunately involved. In his left hand he held a small dagger, so drenched in human fluid that it was indistinguishable from the rest of the tomb robber.

This stained man raised his arms in the air like trophies of success. He bellowed his laughter to the winds, competing with distant sounds of moaning from those unlucky enough to have survived the onslaught of the gods.

"Do you think me a fool, pharaoh?" His scarred face twitched at the very idea. "Or a man of weakness? How dare you! Sacrifice means nothing to me!" The man turned his incensed visage towards the sky to proclaim more hilarity in the matter.

The Pharaoh remained completely sincere, unmoved by his adversary's amusement. "For your own sake, Thief…do not continue to stand there."

It was a matter that weighed heavily on Yami's mind. He harbored a type of respect for the man standing in front of him. A confused type of respect: One that gave Bakura no compassion on the battlefield, but at the same time one that could never quite allow the thief to be caught. How many times had he "accidentally" let him get away, just at the last second? Honest accidents, he had assured his soldiers and friends. But this time there were to be no "accidents". There was no possible way to cover it up. If Bakura did not leave now, Yami would be forced to defeat him. For good.

"For _my sake_, Pharaoh? For _my_ _sake_? Why lie? Just do what you've come here to do! Finish it, once and for all!" As he talked, he gestured with his dirtied hands, stressing the point in mortality itself. "Let us see who deserves infinite power!"

The Pharaoh's head drooped with the weight of responsibility. He could not let Bakura win. They would have to end it. A twinge of sadness rang through him…but he shook it off. This was his enemy, as he had reminded himself dozens of times.

He sighed. "As you wish, dear king." His voice was a fragile whisper, barely audible over the desperate pleas spread out over the field, (cries that were gradually lessening).

Like a switch, the pharaoh was ready. His entire body shifted into position, sword drawn and at the ready. The rubies that so tempted the master thief were alive with a lust for killing so fierce it sent shocks to the nerves throughout his blood-spattered figure.

Relishing in the sensation, the thief king shuddered with anticipation, not even bothering to conceal his excitement from his enemy. This is what he needed, what he craved, from his rival. Then he prepared for what was to come, relenting into a stance similar to Yami's.

Palpable hatred volleyed back and forth between the two for a matter of moments.

The two lashed forward, equally as deadly as their blades, and resounded against each other with a thick _clang_ of metal on metal. They flew apart, circling each other, trying to find the right way to strike. Another hit, lashing forward, _clang_, and back.

With an aggravated scream, Bakura rushed forward, aiming directly for the throat, already picturing a shower of the pharaoh's deliciously warm blood showering him with the strike.

Indeed the blood did come, but it spilled forth from the left of Bakura, falling across the left side of his figure. This was not where his brain had told him to expect blood…He turned his head in confusion. Before he had the chance, the pharaoh was at him again, this time at his right side.

When the pharaoh pulled away again, Bakura's mind officially registered the attack made on him. Two large, gaping gashes on both arms explained it all. Pain ravaged him swiftly.

But pain he could deal with. He barely noticed. It was the pharaoh that made him scream. The bastard was winning…but how?

Bakura tried another slaughtering blow to the pharaoh's jugular, but as soon as he made the slightest juxtaposition of a move, the pharaoh was on him again, tearing his abdomen to ribbons.

Vulgarities erupted from Bakura's mouth. He tried again. Now his right thigh harbored a wound longer than his arm. Enlivened by hatred and the panic that accompanies failure, Bakura charged again blindly at his opponent. His left leg now.

So forth the one-sided battle continued until Bakura lay on the blackened sands once beneath him, gasping for breath, fighting for consciousness. He tried to stand but barely managed to wave his dagger around feebly from a kneeling position.

Hazily he heard the honorably smug words leave Yami's mouth, "Had enough, Bakura?" Through clouded vision he saw him standing, knife poised at a casual but fierce resting position.

Every muscle felt like a bag of gravel in Bakura's body. He slowly fell to the ground, unsure of what his next move would be, but consumed by a hatred that burned his soul. One word he managed to spit out indignantly, "…How…"

Even in his weakened state, Bakura saw it: The dimming golden glow on Yami's forehead. It flashed at him, laughing at his defeat.

"Shadow magic." A smirk flickered on the pharaoh's lips.

Bakura's hatred doubled and exceeded all possible boundaries, setting aflame every piece of his being. "You…fuck!"

And then unconsciousness came. An unconsciousness that reeked of cold, painful failure.

-------------------------------

"Why give yourself up like this, Pharaoh?"

Seto's cerulean eyes danced in the candle light, instruments of malice. The priest had his arms planted firmly on the table before the Pharaoh, concrete rods of tanned flesh that trumpeted defiance and anger as the held up the rest of his slim body. "You are leaving yourself—and what remains of this kingdom—wide open to an attack."

Yami sat behind opposite end of the long golden table. This was his bedroom Seto had intruded upon. Formerly a place of solitude where he gathered the strength to become the pharaoh, now it was the battlefield for another type of battle: Justifying his actions.

"Seto…" he sighed, eyes presently a calm lilac as opposed to the crimson they were during the battle. "It is a complicated matter. Believe me."

The priest's face twitched slightly at that comment. Yami could already tell his advisor disagreed in the strongest sense. "You make it complicated." Furiously, Seto ripped himself from his offensive position on the table, arms falling with potential malevolence back to his side. However, the cynical priest's angular face remained in its deadly vice in front of Yami, keeping the pharaoh's countenance locked helplessly to his.

"I just do not understand…" Seto continued. "Why do you let your enemies control you? By the gods' divine right, you are the pharaoh. You should be the one with the upper hand."

Yami's weary form sat slumped in his small chair, so much more comfortable than his overpowering throne, the very weight of which defined its responsibility. But this chair gave him less command over Seto. That was why he wished Seto had waited until sunrise to confront him—but silence was never one of the priest's attributes.

With a breath that the pharaoh wished had gathered more strength, he said, "I have not let anyone control me, Seto. All I have done is placed Bakura in the dungeons instead of the traditional death sentence. I have not given anyone the 'upper hand', as you put it."

The pair of sapphires Seto sported flashed dangerously. "Bakura is your enemy. He defiled your father's tomb. He destroyed the city. He killed Mahado and injured Akhenaden. I will not speak of the robbing of Pharaoh Akhenamkhanen—your own father's sacred tomb. In the process he stole several of the Sen-Nin items. And now that he is finally at your mercy, you let him live?"

Yami turned his heavy gaze away from Seto's for a moment. "You need not remind me of his insurrections, High Priest. I know full well." At this next comment his eyes returned to his current adversary's in a brief spark of dominance. "More than you do, as a matter of fact." He watched victoriously as Seto withdrew slightly from the sharpness of this statement.

There was a pause as Seto decided his next attack. Yami waited, putting up a false façade of calmness while internally he tried to suppress his growing unease. Seto would let himself be fooled once, beaten once. But he always learned from his defeats and returned with renewed vigor and spite.

It began. "Bakura will recover from his wounds. And—.."

"It is likely that he will die in prison. I have removed all of the Sen-Nin items that were once in his possession. Also, you yourself know how cruel it is in those dungeons, do you not, Priest?" Yami thought it best to attack Seto in the middle of his tirade before his plan could be completed.

Unfortunately, that rarely worked. Ignoring the last comment, Seto pushed forward with a dark glare of resolution. "You know that he will live, Pharaoh. I know that. Stop trying to delude me; I am not one of your foolish servants."

Yami could do nothing but nod at that. Seto was his servant, but he was not one of the foolish ones. He spoke the truth.

"When Bakura recovers, and he _will_," (Seto put unnecessary emphasis on the last word) "It is obvious that he will come back to kill you. His quest for revenge on this kingdom will never end and you are the very object of his retribution. It is foolishness—madness—to leave him alive when you _know_ the course of events that will take place because of this."

Yami did not know how to answer his priest. His emotions were crying out to him to catch Seto in some verbal inadequacy, some mistake in his thinking. Yet, there was none. Nothing was incorrect in the way Seto thought. In fact, his were to be the first of many arguments about the senselessness of Yami's actions. However, Yami knew he was correct in doing what he had done. Seto and the others had no knowledge of the…respect that Yami held for the Tomb Robber. It was the same respect he had had to overcome when he fought Bakura. It had prohibited the pharaoh from killing him when he fell into unconsciousness and now it stopped him from sentencing the thief to death.

Yami knew he was a fool for letting him live. Though there did not seem to be another course of action that his pride would allow. And, Ra damn it, he was The Pharaoh. His decisions reigned over all. Seto would have to learn that.

In the space that followed the last move, the priest had thought up more words with which to stab at his ruler. "You put not only yourself but your entire kingdom in danger with this move, Yami. If you are so in love with Egypt as you once proclaimed to be, then show that you do not want it to die at the hands of a mad man. Sentence Bakura to death."

Although Seto had not entirely finished, Yami had heard enough. With anger that had been lurking within him ever since Seto first arrived, Yami slammed his palm flat on the table.

The lithe body of the pharaoh leapt out of his inferior chair and turned on his visitor.

"Do not presume to tell me whether or not I love my kingdom, Seto! I am the Pharaoh of Egypt! And I have command over you, _Priest_! Learn your place!"

Seto showed no surprise or fear. He had seen the pharaoh do this numerous times, that was Yami's constant disadvantage with him. At the same time, Seto was not stupid. Enough had been said for this night. There were plenty to come in the time to follow. This issue could be brought up when Bakura finally did heal, whenever that was.

So, stepping back, Seto lowered his head in a diminished version of a bow, his high priest's headdress moving solidly with him.

Yami thrust his head angrily towards the doorway. "Leave."

Seto whipped his back on the pharaoh and moved towards the silk curtain that guarded the doorway. With one sun-darkened arm, he pushed the curtain aside. Just when Yami thought the agile form was going leave his bedchambers, Seto turned his head back to face him.

Seeing only the prominent profile of the priest's face, a sight that still defied him, he heard Seto say, "You have made a sacrifice today, Pharaoh. And it will be paid in blood."

Not to be defeated, he replied quickly with, "What I have done, I have done."

"Hmph." Traditional Seto. With the teasing jingle of numerous gold bangles and a thrash of his cape, Seto was gone. Finally.

The room looked the same as it had before the priest's arrival. Only the silk curtain swayed slightly to show that anyone had entered the pharaoh's company that night at all. It was finally time to forget this day's travesties. For a while, anyway. Until tomorrow.

Tomorrow…Yami's eyes reverted from their Seto-induced crimson back to their normal violet. The pharaoh did not want to think about tomorrow. That was already looking like a hellish day to go down in the history of hellish days.

That was tomorrow, though…Briefly, Yami contemplated the idea of moving to lay down on his bed for sleep. But his bed seemed so far…the pharaoh dropped back into his comfortable chair and laid his head onto his folded arms.

_Bakura…you should have listened to me…then the both of us could have been free men._

Purple eyes closed shakily. Sleep came surprisingly quickly, calmly embracing his figure with unconscious warmth. An unconsciousness that reverberated with the promise of stress.

-----------------------------------

Pain.

That was the first thing Bakura recognized as he began to leave his long-term sleep.

Pain.

_Where is…my body through all this pain?_

Slowly, agonizingly, Bakura began to separate the definitions of his limbs through the pain. He felt…arms…legs…torso…face…all swimming in a pool of pain.

Eyelids. Open. Why did they refuse to open? Bakura could feel his face, why did his eyelids remain so adamantly closed?

With each second, the thief king's mind gained more clarity. He now knew that he was in a sitting position, on a floor that felt hard and cold. And wet? Was the floor wet? He could not tell. Maybe it was just cold.

Through the unbearable, throbbing pain in his body, Bakura could feel the position of his arms and hands, bound and tied behind his back in such a way that he was almost sitting on them. Maybe that was where the wet came from. Because he knew for certain that his arms, though bloody, were burning up from the pain of infection.

Finally, the insubordinate eyelids relented into opening. Blackness met his vision. Bakura found that news unsatisfactory. Unacceptable. He needed to know where he was. Now, damn it. So he tried again. Blackness…with a small glow of light directly in front of him. Not good enough. Again. Once more, for a third subsequent time, there was blackness, but the blackness had gotten to the point where it merely rimmed his vision. In front of him there was light. Dim light, from what looked like two torches.

Bakura smirked. If there were torches, people had to be attached. People he could handle. People were stupid and easily manipulated. Bakura both liked and hated people.

On the fourth try, the thief opened his eyes and they remained open. In between the fogginess of his vision, he took in the entirety of his surroundings. He sat against a wall, one particularly long wall, in the middle of two other walls, neither of which were as long as the one he rested against. The walls were cold and damp looking—had he been correct about the wetness? (Who cared, anyway?)

In his direct line of vision, there was not a wall but an open space blocked off by thick but cheap metal bars. Between the bars there stood two torches, held in the grip off two human hands, humans that looked stupid enough to be prison guards.

A cell, then.

Bakura smirked. Cells were a thing of his past. Robbers were caught every now and then, even the most careful of professionals. Cells were places that housed him like a caged animal. Cells confined his breathing space and mocked his self-respect. But cells could be broken. Cells could be great places to think about your next course of action. Cells were better than being dead with no one to exact your revenge for you. Bakura both liked and hated cells.

Questions about this cage began to form in his mind. Why was he here? What had happened to him to imprison him within this terrible/wonderful cell?

The pharaoh. That had to be it. His mind, renewed with thoughts of his most hated enemy, began to call up memories of his last fight with the pharaoh. Damn. The pharaoh had cheated. The pharaoh had used shadow magic…that was not really cheating. Yes it was, damn it. Using something that Bakura had not known how to channel was goddamn cheating. Death to anyone that said otherwise.

Either way, Bakura realized he had been the loser of their battle, however brief it was. And just when he was about to finish the final stages of his plan…his plan had worked so well until that point…so much had been accomplished…he was so close, so agonizingly, temptingly, unfairly close…barely out of reach…Daggers of disappoint ran through his insides.

Everything had been lost…

No. Bakura cast the daggers aside with impatience. This was not the end. He was still alive, bless the gods and their twisted fate, he could make a new plan. Yes, yes he could make a new plan. A better one. This one surely would not fail.

Eyes open, almost looking alive with hope of a new plan. Bakura's lips began to twist into a demented smile.

_Pharaoh. You have left me alive. I know not why. But you will pay dearly for your foolish decision. I cannot be suppressed._

"Well, well, well, well, well."

Bakura jerked his head up to meet this new voice. The smug-looking face of one of the guards stood before him, contorted by the dirty orange light of the torch. "So, you have finally decided to join the world of the waking, Thief _King_." The word "king" was accentuated to stretch the irony of it.

"Fancy that," said the other guard. "A king in the darkest part of the dungeons?"

"Something so unusual…" Bakura was sure the guards continued to talk. But he tuned them out. Inconsequential little worms. Guards were always like that, though. They said things that got them into trouble. So when you did finally decide to ram a knife through their throats you did not feel any guilt. It was a favor for the world if you killed off the possibility of stupidity breeding and multiplying. Bakura loved and at the same time loathed guards.

Laughter resonated from above Bakura. Ra be damned, they were still talking. How could they be made to shut up? Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. He willed them with the power of his mind.

Wait…he had something more than his mind to use against them. Bakura's eyes gleamed at the thought. The Sen-Nin items he had stolen from those idiots that served his enemy. Surely they would be advantageous in this situation…His mind felt towards the pockets where he always kept them.

With horror he realized they were not there. Of course. The pharaoh was not an imbecile; he would never have let Bakura keep the items. Damn. So much hard work, lives not his own lost…damn, damn, damn. The sour taste of disappoint filled his mouth, then the fiery feeling of anger rose within him. He _would_ get those Sen-Nin items back. No one could keep them from him. Not even the pharaoh, curse him to the deepest pits of the Underworld.

"And not even as though he has a way out of this situation, the crafty bastard…" Oh, hell, they were still hurling bad insults at him! Bakura could hardly stand it anymore.

He opened his mouth to fling a decade worth of ancient curses at them—but no. His jaw tightened again. This was just what they wanted. They wanted to wear him down so they had the grounds to work against him. Like the right to beat, smack, kick, and damage. The wounds on his body were already enough of a burden.

The wounds…The gray-blue eyes of the thief king wandered down his deformed figure and inspected them. Ugly and infected, the lesions remained open, bleeding freely. The pharaoh had not harbored the decency to bandage them or apply any kind of salve on them. With each passing second Bakura could feel the agony of his injuries, like slices out of his pride, lacerating every nerve in his skin. Forget about scarring, these wounds were likely to kill him.

"Why does he not speak?" One of the two above him asked.

"Does he think himself still a king?"

"Surely it is fatigue at this point that keeps him silent."

"Those injuries are quite bad…" So they did notice the wounds. Interesting. The infection was probably a means of torture, then. Torture for what gain? The pharaoh already knew everything Bakura knew. It was not as though either of them harbored any secrets. Yet another puzzling question.

"Perhaps with a little force we can pry his mouth open, then?" Bakura's weary gaze flicked up at this proposition. Unfortunately, the two guards noticed this and began to laugh. "Do not worry, prisoner. You are too weak for us to hit with force. We shall be light, this time. Unless you would prefer to speak now…" Bronze-skinned knuckles cracked in a mockery of menace.

How sad. They needed to harm one so helpless to feel strong. Bakura smirked at their stupidity. Even if he did get a beating, it made no difference. Guards like these tired themselves out eventually. He could take them despite his weakened and bound position.

"No? May your wish be granted, then." More chuckling. The sound of rusty clicks entered the thief's ears as they unlocked the small door between the bars. With loud protest the cell opened, revealing the unbarred, smug-looking figures of the guards. They swarmed around him on either side, preparing for the best means of attack. Bakura was already bracing himself for the attack when—

"Stop."

The single word, uttered from someone outside the cell. All three men in the cell turned to look at the holy form of the High Priest as he stood behind the bars, glaring at every one of them with threatening eyes, eyes of a rare aqua color that few in the harsh Egyptian desert could match.

Immediately, the guards were on their knees in praise. "Priest Seto…my lord, why grace these unworthy—.."

Seto cut them off by slicing his hand through the air. "Enough. Get out of there." They obeyed on quick feet.

Bakura, no longer seeing a need to keep silent as there was finally someone in his presence somewhat worthy of being spoken to, challenged the priest with "Has the pharaoh lost the will to carry out his own business? He needs to send his servants to do his bidding?" Seto hated being associated with servants; Bakura was well aware of that. He was, however, surprised to find that his voice sounded weak. Disgusted, Bakura reasoned that it was because of the infections ravaging his body.

Snarling slightly, the high priest replied, "Do not put my presence under the pretext of your pathetic captor's will. I am here of my own volition."

"Oh? Do I tempt you, Seto?" He smirked and flipped his blood-encrusted hair seductively. A long pink tongue slid out of its cavern to lick cracked lips.

Seto paused then smirked. "Not I. Although…" On royal blue silk slippers the slender man moved to the doorway of the cell saying, "You may have obtained the pharaoh's interest."

This thought surprised and amused Bakura. He laughed a mere shadow of his usual bellow. "Do you not know that was my plan all along?"

Catching the sarcasm, but not fully comprehending its reasoning, Seto moved into the cell and stood before the tomb robber in all his holy, arrogant glory. "It has finally become useful. The pharaoh has decided to keep your sinful, decadent self alive."

Bakura had figured this much though the logic still eluded him. "Why?"

Seto raised a thin but muscular arm as if in question and said, "I thought we agreed that it was a matter of…flesh pursuit?" At the last inference, Seto raised an eyebrow to emphasis the unlikelihood of this.

The degraded thief king knew that Seto was trying to confuse him. He disregarded the last statement—probably; the high priest did not understand the pharaoh's motives himself. Then…what could it be?

Dissatisfied with Bakura's silence and wishing to make the point he came into this godforsaken dungeon for, Seto moved toward Bakura and kneeled down on his haunches. He had given Bakura no room to move with his back against the wall and his front completely blocked. The tomb robber, as Seto well knew, hated to be crowded. The wild man demanded space, as any insane person would. So the priest made sure that their noses were almost touching before he spoke again.

Flustered at the sudden closeness Bakura tried to rear back but met only the damned slippery stonewall of the cell. Trapped by the hell-ridden priest. How sickening, (and he was already feeling sick, damn it all).

In a harsh whisper, the priest promised, "You may have been spared by the pharaoh, Tomb Robber. But that does not mean you will survive these dungeons. In fact I will make it my personal affectation to guarantee that you will not."

Bakura really felt ill now. Having Seto's loathsome, sweet-smelling breath on his face, his delicate, bishou features so close to his own…the priest had an amazing ability to piss him off. How he longed to strike out and mar that egotistical face with a swipe of his bare fingernails…but he could not do that. So instead he gathered what saliva he found in his mouth and spit it at the priest.

Right on target. A perfect blue eye struck with bloody spit.

Seto scrunched the left struck side of his face and moved slowly back into a standing position. Finally Bakura could breathe. With one graceful yet enraged hand movement, the priest wiped his eye and flung the liquid away. When the eyes opened again, it appeared red and slightly lazy with agitation. Wonderful. That would last for some time.

Truly angered now, Seto pulled back his right hand in a gesture screaming that Bakura was going to be backhanded by the priest. Although, this was deemed a worthy price for what was accomplished. Bakura readily braced himself again. His eyes closed in complacent acceptance.

And again the blow did not come.

"Tch. Pharaoh…" When his eyes opened again, the priest's arm was down by his side in a neutral stance. The fancy headdress atop chestnut locks moved with the priest as he shook his head from side to side. Bakura was not entirely certain of what Seto was thinking. Had there been something he missed?

Regardless of this, Seto continued, "Remember what I said. You will pay for the lives you took." Then he turned and walked out, leaving Bakura alone in the cell. The door closed and locked. Seto turned the key as if to add finality in the act. "And you will never leave this place."

Now Bakura was upset again. Why was Seto so unable to keep his mouth closed? He retorted quickly, while his enemy was still standing before the bars. "And of the lives you took, Seto? The lives of innocents that you and your despicable friends stole from the village of Kul Elna? Are they less important than the ones I ended? Do you think yourself immune to the fate of the gods? To my fiery retribution? Yes, it will rain down upon you all! Tell that to them, Seto! Tell them all! You may think that by keeping me locked up that I am no longer a threat, but do not fool yourself! I will get out of here! No one can stop me! No one! Do you hear me, you foolish priest? NO ONE!"

When Bakura's monologue finally ended, he found only his shouts bouncing off the damp walls accompanied him. Seto had left long ago and so had the guards. He was just barking in the dark.

An empty kind of solitude entered the cell. The guards had left and taken their torches with them. Complete blackness. His "life long" sentence had begun it seemed. Silence rang in his ears. The pain from his wounds rose up anew with nothing to keep his nerves occupied.

Fine. Now there was time to think about escaping…how was he going to do that, again? Vengeance could not truly be had without that first…

Damn. There were so many thoughts circulating his brain he could not think. Bakura shook his head violently, trying to rid himself of the plaguing things. They were still there when he finished and now he felt dizzy and sick.

Sick…damn Seto leaning close to him like that…he hated when people stood or sat close to him. It always made him feel sick…and now with these damn infections…

Everything burned. His rotten stomach churned. Something vile bubbling up in the back of his throat…Damn—

He leaned forward and vomited on the floor, making him feel worse. The vile substance now dribbling down his chin…mixed with bloody saliva…where did the blood come from? Too many wounds. The red substance oozed up from his throat every so often. He had the metallic taste of that combined with the sour, acidic taste of his vomit slathered all over his tongue…Ra, he could use a drink of water…

Damn this all. Now was the time for a plan…but a fog had descended on the thief's mind. He could not think straight.

Later, then, for the plan. Now was the time for healing. And how was he going to do that, again? He did not know.

Curses tumbled out of a stained mouth. They met with the silence and formed a type of prayer in the solitude. It seemed there were no other prisoners around. Perfect. Less people to get—

He leaned forward and projected more vomit in the same spot. He still felt sick. And it took so much strength to throw up…

He was so tired, suddenly. Was it sudden? Hadn't he felt tired the whole time? Did he? He left it undecided.

Sleep tugged at him again. But he did not want sleep. He wanted to stay awake and deal with this problem. Though its call was strong…the cold, wet wall served as a bed for him to slip into unconsciousness. An unconsciousness so unwanted.

---------------------------

Awareness faded in and out. Waking hours were pain, sleeping hours were uncomfortable, never did eh truly sleep. Pain kept him awake. The time he spent awake was not really "awake". He was constantly drowning in a sense of confusion. Haziness had made a permanent home of his consciousness. The pain was the only thing clear to him. All hope of figuring out a plan was lost.

Bakura had lost track of time in the dungeon. The darkness that constantly enveloped him offered no help in differentiating between day and night, hour and minute. Unless he suddenly began counting, (which he did not even know how to do), all sense of time was gone.

Somehow, he had managed to disconnect himself from the wall. There was no way to see in this dungeon, (he had been robbed of sight for however long he had been in here), so he did not even know if he was near it or far from it. He never heard anything except for the occasional drip of water; he wished he knew where that water had come from. He was so thirsty…The only sense he had was touch, and that was constantly occupied by the incessant pain shooting all over his body.

Bakura lay in the middle, (he guessed?), of his cell, squirming with his hands tied behind his back. He twisted in his sleep-like state, vagueness making him fight for consciousness. Constantly, the thief king felt like he was wandering on a solid plain, drenched in fire, searching for something he had lost long ago. He hated feeling this way. It made the uncertainty of everything more prominent.

Visions plagued him as well. Sometimes, on the edge of sleep, Bakura would suddenly see flashes of his past life. His old home, Kul Elna. His family. His village, and his people. He also saw the pharaoh, sometimes in visions of their many past battles, sometimes in situations that had never happened. Civilized conversations with the pharaoh. Bakura never remembered what he said. It was always something angry, though.

Suddenly he screamed. He had not uttered any sounds other than muddled cries and curses for…well, he hadn't since he arrived. Now he screamed at the top of his lungs.

In this scream, he put all his hate. For the pharaoh, all his hate for the people that advised him and worked with him, his priests, Seto, the guards, his hate for the way his plans had been consistently ruined by the strangling grip of the kingdom. All the hate that had suffused through Bakura throughout his entire life was thrust into that one powerful scream.

And then he let out another cry. This one was not as loud as the last, but it still took all his vocal power to utter. In this one, he put all his anger. For everything he hated, for his new fate, for everything that he wanted to happen that did not. For the people that worked against him on a daily basis, for the Sen-Nin items that had been lost.

Now another yell. This one was even less than its predecessor, though its creator felt every bit as enflamed. This yell harbored all his confusion, the vagueness, the haziness, the plain that he wandered, the visions that haunted him, his mind's constant uncertainty.

Then he let out a shriek, (it was less than a yell, however, more than mere speech). He put all the pain he felt into this one, physically. The wounds that refused to heal, the infections, his sickness, the vomit that he was probably lying on right now, the burning throughout his body, every nerve set on fire by the viciousness the pharaoh dealt.

The last one. The fifth and final howl of agony, though it was more like a whimper than anything else. This one was for despair.

Why had the gods forsaken him? Was his cause not a righteous one? Had his tomb robber's blessing finally…ended?

No. No, he must not give in to the despair. He must not doubt himself now. There was hope still. He could find a way out of here. He had been in more demanding situations before; there was no reason why he should not survive this one.

Yet…it all seemed so useless. Pain was absolute, endless. His torment, it seemed, would never come to an end.

On the brink of another yelling-spree, Bakura drifted into an uneasy sleep plagued with visions of a smirking pharaoh. Yami had won again.

A/N: That ends the first chapter. This is a long story. We haven't even met Ryou yet.

Tell me, please, what did you think of it? At first I wondered about taking out the scene where Yami talks to Seto…but then I thought how else are we going to get to know the pharaoh, (not to mention Seto)? He's a very important character to the plot of this story so I really wanted to stress his role. Was it clear? Or did it look like I was just adding random fill-in notes?

Yes…poor Seto had one of his perfect blue eyes spit on. It is very sad, (cries). But I don't know, does anyone else think he's way too arrogant in the manga? Apparently Bakura did. Heh. That part made me a little sad, but I got over it because that scene set up some of Bakura's character as well. Plus, it was a little fun. Lol.

I'll update this story soon. Most of my other chapters are already finished. For now, everyone wish fallen-angel-of-repression a Happy Birthday. (claps)


	2. Chapter 2

Notes: Hello readers! I hope that all returning are used to my writing style by now…heh. If you are then I think you'll find this chapter to your liking. Ryou arrives at last! I'm dying to know what you guys think of him. His character is sort of a mystery, so I took some liberties there as well. Also, someone alerted me as to the shipping of the pairing in this story. I found out that tendershipping only includes Yami BakuraxRyou. I have Thief King BakuraxRyou so that would be gemshipping. Sorry for the mistake! Enjoy, (hi fallen-angel!).

Warning: Contains yaoi, yes…isn't that why you're here? Blood, gore, language, character death…your decision to stay or not.

Disclaimer: I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh.

**Chapter 2**

"Why give yourself up like this, Ryou?"

The boy asked himself this question. His dirty, cracked leather sandals hit the floor of the dungeon, slapping against the moisture there with a resounding squish that reverberated through the corridor. Snow white hair cascaded down upon bony shoulders. His skin, though pale by nature, was tinted darker by many harsh hours under the sun and a fresh coat of dirt that settled form months without bathing. Briefly he wondered why the floor was even wet if it did not rain down here or anything, but that was a topic best left alone.

The better question was: Why was he here? These were the dungeons of the pharaoh's palace. No one but thuggish guards, High Priest Akhenaden, and High Priest Seto dared to venture down here. It was a grim place filled with torture devices and the echoing memory of agonized prisoners, wallowing in pain, begging for unanswered deliverance. Ryou really was not supposed to be here. His master would kill him if he found out that he had been here in the first place…

His master. Such a mean man. Mindlessly, out of habit, Ryou felt the scars on his back where the whip had cut into him numerous times…then he stopped himself. That also was a topic best left alone. But he could not help it. These dungeons called back such bad emotions, making him slightly morose.

With surprising force, the boy wrenched his mind back on topic. Why was he here?

Because he had heard it. The sound of screams…so painful they could not be ignored.

_Well, you should be hearing screams coming from this section of the palace…_ A more rational side of his mind mentioned. _This is Pharaoh Atemu's prison. _

Still…they sounded so painful…agonized…how could he just pass by? There had been four of them. In a row. Each with diminishing vigor but still so…had there been four? Was it more like five? Well, yes there were five. But the fifth one was more like a whimper than anything else. Ryou only heard it because he had strained to listen for more. Why had he strained? He wanted a name. A reason to put on his sheer empathy.

Why was he empathetic? That was the best question of all. He had no answer. But there was something about suffering…any suffering…it called to him consistently, inexplicably. And this person who bawled so helplessly sounded like he needed empathy. It was almost as if he had shouted Ryou's name when he screamed.

_All that foolishness aside, you really should at least put the basin down. _He was carrying a small basin of water, for his master's bath. The water was freshly drawn from the well and it was late in the evening when Ryou had been summoned for it. The well was always Ryou's favorite place to be when it was this time of night. Pure velvety blackness washed over him from the Egyptian sky. Yes, it was very cold. Freezing. But that was practically nothing if you looked at the beauty of the scene. The coldness actually added to the splendor, in all truth. It gave bite and magnificent pain to the simple pleasure.

The boy did not think it wise to put down the water. He may not return this way when he left and to loose his master's basin would surely be a cause for punishment. Punishment…Ryou did not need that. No. No. No, it was better to keep the basin…yes…the scars on his back began to sting out of memory…yes, keep the basin.

Now…if he could only figure out where he was in the dungeon. Oh, this had been a foolish decision. He was lost now. "Victim of your own foolishness," as his master always said. Ryou responded to this in silence. He rarely ever spoke. Ryou disliked speaking. Ever since his sister, (dear, precious Amane, who followed him everywhere and depended on him for everything), had been violated and beaten to death by thieves all those years ago, Ryou had hardly found any reason to speak more than a few words at a time to people other than himself. Speaking. It was an almost painful experience.

Enough of that. The most important thing—the very thing that would justify his presence here in the first place—was to find out where the prisoner he so desperately sought lay in agony. He needed to make a decision: Go back or keep searching for this man he did not even know, (and he knew it was a man, those cries had not been feminine).

By the gods, Ryou then came upon the perfect place for making decisions: A fork in the road. The corridor now split into three sections separate hallways. The one on his left was completely dark, not a torch in the entire hallway. Straight in front of him there appeared to be more insane torture devices with people…in them…Ryou tried not to look. Then on his right, there appeared to be a set of cages filled with raucous, dirty men that looked almost insane with rage. They were all piled on top of each other. Thousands of hands reached between the bars for a group of five guards, standing and laughing at them in their plight.

Ryou could never be caught here. The right corridor was eliminated immediately. Also, it did not seem like the man he wanted was housed there. None of the men were speaking coherently, anyway.

So it was either straight ahead or to the left. Ryou hated to enter the room filled with men being tortured, it would be impossible to help them all. Most likely, the cries he heard were form there…he should probably just turn around now.

Then to the left of him, he heard something strange. It sounded like only one person was imprisoned there in the darkness. Only one? He could hear just the sound of a single man growling to himself. Somehow…he knew that the person who had bellowed such an abandoned cry could only be down that corridor.

The decision was made. With his free hand, Ryou reached up and stole a torch from one of the walls, (he needed light, the darkness was impossible). Staring into his bleak destination as if staring into uncertainty itself, Ryou made the final choice. Once he went in there would be no return without profit. Was he ready?

Of course. Why ever not?

Cracked sandals sloshing on the watery floor, the boy plunged into the darkness to find the prisoner.

As soon as the light from the previous passage had disappeared behind him, still with no prisoners in sight, Ryou began to feel uneasy. This section of the dungeon was probably the worst torture imaginable. Complete lack of the senses. Ryou could think of nothing worse. Any person could go insane staying here for more than a few minutes…but there was no turning back now.

With his feeble torch that offered a width of less than five feet of light, the white haired slave started to feel chilled to his core. Something unnatural occurred in these depths, (occurred? Past or present? No way of knowing). Perhaps the most chilling thing of all about this was the distant moaning he heard of that single person. Each step brought him closer to this tormented man. What would he find when he finally got there?

Indeed, he was alone in this place. There were many twists and turns in the passage, but that was all part of a section of cells. All of them were empty, though. How was that possible? Maybe this type of torture had been outlawed or was only used on the most heinous of criminals.

The cries came closer and closer, with each passing step. Finally Ryou neared the cell that appeared to house the doomed criminal. Hesitantly, he offered the light to the cell. With slight reproach, he realized that his arm was shaking. Yet, the moans were so feral…almost a beauty to behold…

But what he found there was anything but beautiful.

The creature—creature? Well, yes—in the cell did not even look human. He—it?—was contorted on the floor in the left back corner, not touching the wall but still very near to it. A thin slab of bloody flesh, torn and stained cotton was all that met Ryou's vision. Except for something else…slicked back with grease and grime, a fly-away mess of untamable white hair.

White? Was the hair white? Like his? Yes. The hair was white like his.

Immediately upon seeing that hair Ryou felt unafraid. White hair. Like him. In the next second, his small body was pressed against the bars, fumbling with the thick lock on the makeshift door, (it was rusted, but it seemed that whoever had locked it did so rather eccentrically, making absolutely sure that there were to be no accidents). There seemed to be a fire in his veins all of a sudden, like he could not reach the creature quickly enough. Faster…and faster…the thing needed help.

Throwing the tub of water down, (an act which caused some liquid to splash on his broken sandals), Ryou ripped out a small butter knife that he had stolen once from the palace kitchens. He kept it with him always, never sure exactly why. But now he needed it. Shoving the thin slightly dull blade into the lock, he thrust with all his force on the handle to get the thing to turn—please open. A faint _click_ the boy's angelic, shell shaped ears, and he desperately pushed on the door.

The small, bolted door gave way and Ryou stumbled into the cell. Immediately he smelled something rancid, something stale and putrid…something rotten decomposing before his very self. Yet his frantic mind did not register the smell. Instead, his small body rushed to the side of the creature.

Without any hesitation, Ryou laid his cool hands on the enflamed body. The skin was so hot to the touch…it nearly burned him. Gasping slightly, the boy withdrew.

No time for that. Ashamed but with renewed vigor Ryou shook himself and set his childlike hands on the body once more. This time, he was able to turn it over so that it was no longer lying face down. Faintly he noticed that the man's arms were bound by inch-thick ropes. Horrified, he cut them with his butter knife, (dulling the blade almost completely).

When Ryou saw the face of the sufferer, an adamant pang ripped itself free within his chest cavity. The man—man? Well, yes—in his arms had curled white scars mixed with fresh new red ones covering his face. Thick lines of blood and something yellow that could have been vomit traced down his chin leading to a body that was so badly injured, Ryou found himself reminded of an animal carcass he also saw once in the palace kitchens.

Mindlessly, the white quaffed boy began caressing the wounded face. The pang became a repetitive beating within him. Despite the wounds, the strong smell of death that radiated over him, and the ugliness of his lacerated flesh, Ryou could not help but notice that this person had once been very attractive. Perhaps it was the look of pain on his fair face, so quiet that it looked as if he might die, that made him feel so strangely. If he did not die…

Die? No. No. This man would not die. Not if he could change the cruel, twisted fate of the gods that decided a human endure this violence. And he could. And he would. "Do not die…" Ryou pleaded to the heavily unconscious man. As he began ripping his shirt to make bandages and tearing off pieces of his sandal for sutures, one question kept repeating itself over and over again in his mind, keeping a steady rhythm with the palpitations in his heart.

What kind of mortal human could do this to another?

---------------------

Fire. A blistering, burning sensation charred Bakura's nerves with every intake of breath.

Something soothing…a soft, cool hand on his forehead. He was laying on something smooth, comforting. Cool hand stroking burning flesh…

What was this? What was going on? Bakura's damaged mind tried to piece it together but could not. He could barely even open his eyes. The last dregs of emotion within him stirred at these new sensations.

The calming of his fiery skin. Such divine relief…

The cool hand left him for a moment. Bakura frowned. No, damn it. Attempting speech, a small groan escaped his lips.

Alas, it returned. Something clean against his lips. Water? Bakura was not sure if he dared to hope for such a thing.

Wait. Water. This water could be tainted. This could be a man trying to murder him in a potentially weakened state—hell, this man could be the pharaoh himself, pretending to nurse him while truly carrying out his perverse plans to kill the tomb robber. May the sensual Egyptian skies crack open and fall to their doom before Bakura accepted poisoned water from the pharaoh.

Fleetingly, Bakura gathered his final remnants of strength. Pooling them together to form action, the sly, crazed thief suddenly lashed out at his savior with a loud snarl. Even though his eyes were open, his body contorted and vicious facing the now retreating form, the thief king's blurry vision could only see in disfigured outlines. A person…small…untamed, matted hair…pale, sickly looking skin…hands coarse from previous years of labor. Definitely not…the pharaoh.

Defeated muscles screamed at Bakura. No more movement… he dropped and let the pain consume him once again. At least his attacker was not the pharaoh.

If not the pharaoh…then who? What kind of mortal human would take pity on the notorious monstrosity known as Bakura?

--------------------

The sun entered the palace window at just the proper angle to reflect piercing golden light off the center of the Sen-Nin Puzzle. Yami stared at it, remarking silently on its crafted beauty as he did always when gazing upon his burden. The Sen-Nin Puzzle. It was both a gift and a curse.

The pharaoh sat on his high throne. Long, cavernous stretches of space loomed before him in precedence. He had seen it all before; the palace's valor failed to impress him any longer.

Could he actually describe the leaden feeling in his chest as boredom? How unfitting for a king to feel. But there was nothing to do, these days. With Bakura gone, crime had reduced to an almost rare occurrence. Duel monsters was now used as a past time to entertain his priests and servants, not as a method of protection. Earlier plans to reconstruct the city his former adversary had destroyed were long since put into action. The city was actually almost complete. Yami longed to see that. It would mark triumph in this time.

Yami hated boredom. It led to unpleasant things. Egypt itself was still a kingdom of treachery. No one—not palace guard nor high priest—could be trusted. Now that the place had been lured into a dull period, people would be itching to take over the throne. So here the pharaoh sat, defending his holy position to the last crevice of inactivity that resided there.

Ah, Tomb Robber…

Lately, Yami's attention had been drawn more and more to this old topic. The pharaoh had not once gone down to the torture chambers to see his old adversary. He hated it there. Why would he want to witness his boastful enemy now reduced to nothing in the madness of the prison? It was so intense down there any pointedly sane person could loose their mind. Bakura had not been pointedly sane to begin with—the tanned ruler found it more than likely that the thief king had been driven to complete madness by now. Strangely enough, the thought saddened him…

It was the damn respect again. How haunting to realize that even the fiercest of men could be driven completely incontinent with extreme enough measures. Perhaps it reminded Yami of his own fragility…yes, that certainly explained his fascination with the subject of Bakura's imprisonment. Indeed.

Now if only he could make peace with the matter and move on.

--------------------

A dim light glowed in the background. Bakura's fragile eyes were opening just in time to see it drawing nearer and nearer.

The mechanics of his mind began working, albeit slowly. Where was he? Blue gray eyes rolled around in their sockets. He was still captive in the cell. But he had known that; the news did not particularly surprise him.

His wounds. The same foggy blue eyes rolled down to the now slender body of the thief king. White bandages wrapped themselves all along his arms and legs. Not a single wound was left unattended. Additionally, Bakura noticed that his bonds had been cut. Both arms hung freely down at his sides.

"What the hell?" he whispered. When had all this happened?

Unable to keep his eyes open for too long, Bakura laid back and tried to concentrate, (why had this become so difficult in the godsforsaken hellhole the pharaoh had condemned him to?). Alright. So he had not been freed by his enemies. But they had decided to heal him? No, that did not make any sense. Then why the bandages? He could not grasp it.

Obviously, someone in the palace had taken it upon themselves to heal the bleeding, helpless prisoner. Bakura felt slight unease amid all the amusing irony portrayed in this situation. Ha. Someone had saved him. The kingdom was bent on destroying itself, was it not? How sardonic. The malicious side of Bakura reveled and squealed in appeasement. He could surely accept this new tangle in the never-ending knot that was the outcome of his original failure.

And yet…there was a twinge of tension underneath all this mockery. He could not shake it. The dim light that came ever-closer to his position did not help either.

The light. What was that, anyway? Some guard? Did the guards even come to see him anymore? He assumed so; in the beginning of his sentence he remembered seeing them every now and then to bring food to his cell. (Death by starvation seemed unworthy apparently). Although now that he looked in the corner where the food usually lay, he found only empty space. This confused him.

The light drew nearer still. Bakura could view it behind closed eyes it was so close. Damn, it was bright. Maybe he wanted some sleep. No consideration for thieves, he supposed.

Eventually a sound like a lock being picked entered his ears. Who…what did it want…where had…what? Bakura's tired muscles clenched with adrenaline. If he had to fight, he would.

The door creaked open. Small quick feet that sounded bare foot pattered over to his side. He heard another noise, like something heavy being placed near his head. An axe, perhaps? No, that would be stupid. Why go through the trouble of healing him when the plan all along had been to decapitate him? So, he waited and listened, alert and alive behind his façade of sleep.

More noises. Something cold touched his arm and peeled back the bandages, exposing his gashes to the dank air in the prison. A small chill ran up Bakura's spine. He tried to hide it, (sleeping men did not feel chilly, did they? No, they felt dead), and hoped it turned out real.

Water splashed somewhere around his upper ear. It sounded so fresh…suddenly his tongue felt like a piece of leather in his mouth. He wanted some of that water. Without dwelling on it, he felt the water—cold and slick—run down his arm, cleaning out the area for infection. A human's hand was obviously behind the rag that cleansed him; he could feel the small strokes of skin underneath it.

Calmly, without haste, something slippery and freezing was slathered on the wounds. Pain shot through him, quickly and quietly, but only for a moment. After that moment, the usual ache of his burden subsided and he was left with only a dull sore sensation. It was amazing liberation from the horrible, gouging feeling of the cuts that normally accompanied him. Wonderful salve…

Apparently this person had obtained a job as something of a healer, then? Perhaps. His healer moved all over his body, tending the wounds with great care, every now and then stopping to rinse the disease-ridden rag. It became sort of mechanic after a few minutes. Before Bakura could even stop himself he felt muscles relaxing under the gentle touch.

Finally, the ministrations moved to his face. He had cuts there? Bakura was not even sure anymore. There were some small bandages under his eyes; the tomb robber could feel them.

Soft fingers applied pressure to the fleshy section of Bakura's cheekbones. He twitched. When was the last time such light contact had been given to his face? Not since the days before the destruction of Kul Elna. He had basically abandoned all tenderly physical human contact when the pharaoh's father murdered every villager in his home, (except one). After that he had given up such trivialities as kindness and touching. What was the point? Bakura hated to be fooled. He hated to be the butt of someone's joke and he loathed being under the care of someone else. Now this…healer whom he did not even know had taken the prisoner's burden solely on their giving shoulders? This he could not accept.

Angrily, Bakura threw his eyes open to meet the stranger. He had attempted to frighten the person into submission, but instead his machinations turned against him.

Directly before him was a set of eyes the same smoke-filled lapis color he wore, along with the same cottony white bush of hair floating behind his face and the same. For a brief moment, Bakura felt like he was looking into a mirror.

The boy above him jumped back several feet after the eye contact. Bakura rolled over away from him, having shocks pulsating through his heart at an alarming rate.

Laying on his stomach now, the tomb robber cautiously rotated his head to stare at his healer, who was in a crab-like position at the opposite end of the cell. _What in all the hells…_he thought curiously. The boy could have been his splitting image if not for a few minor differences. Fear beamed at him through the soft facial expressions on the delicate form. The thin, bony chest rose and fell speedily beneath beige-ish clothes that look unwashed and haphazardly sewn. A pair of bony legs lay sprawled before the figure, portraying all possible meanings of innocence in their scrawniness.

Such pale skin…fluorescent white almost. Bakura himself had never seen such a thing in all his life. This person had such angelic, feminine features beneath the dirt on his face and hands—could he call it a male? Female perhaps? Bakura stared at it, (in his mind, he no longer noted it as masculine), wondering.

When the initial shock diminished, Bakura moved into a slightly offensive, slightly passive position and asked in an untrusting voice, "Who are you?"

No answer. All he received was a blank, fearful stare.

"What are you doing here?"

Nothing. Not even movement.

"Do you work for the pharaoh?"

Eyes so hauntingly like his own blinked. It was something. Bakura decided to wait. When that got boring, he began again, finding the dual position uncomfortable and relenting into a resting stance with heavy breath. "What…do you…want?" He panted. May the gods damn all those responsible for his revolting weakness.

Seeing his momentary limitation, the thing opposite him began to shift into a sitting position, ready to attend his side. Despite the sleep and pain nagging at the corners of his vision, Bakura did not want to be crowded by this individual. He clawed a hand in his direction accompanied by a low growl. It recoiled.

Good. "Get…away…" he strangled out, lips twisted into a snarl. Bakura absolutely loathed when people swarmed him. He would sooner kill this boy…girl?...than let it get any closer. If only he was not so weak…he would tear this person apart right now.

Slowly, his hands began to slip and lose their hold on the floor. They spread apart little by little, bit by bit, and every few seconds he found himself closer to the wet stone…sinker deeper…and deeper…slowly…

With a small exhale, Bakura collapsed. He had no strength. "For all the hell-ridden demons of the underworld…" he cursed.

His unwanted companion saw that he was now officially powerless once more. So the slave-like creature crawled forward to meet him. Bakura's eyesight was becoming hazy with tiredness; it became increasingly difficult to remain conscious. Grayish blue eyes slipped closed. His tongue would not form a sentence.

Out of everything, Bakura knew that he hated this the most. Sleeping in front of his enemies…it brought such venomous emotions rising within him.

In the darkness, the thief king felt a hand—cool and gentle—on the side of his face. As if trying to wipe away his self-imposed grief, it began stroking his skin in a familiar manner. Despite everything that screamed at him not to submit, Bakura found himself rather taken with this caressing.

There in the darkness of the pharaoh's prison, the infamous Tomb Robber let a long sigh. Sleep took him quickly, tranquilly, defying the very essence of the prison. The sleep lasted only a short while. But it was a sleep that marked the softening of something that had been hard and bleak for a very long while.

A/N: Well. What did you think?

Sorry if that middle part with Yami seemed kind of random or like fill-in again. I really wasn't trying to do that. Like I said in the last chapter, Yami plays an important role here. Don't forget about him. Also, it let the reader now what was going on outside the dungeon. A little change of scenery, right? Oh, and I recently learned that Amane is an actual character in the Yu-Gi-Oh manga. She died in a car accident along with Ryou's mother. Ryou still writes letters to Amane like she's still alive, (it's so sad…). It's all in the manga. (That helps.)

Please review. I really hope this story isn't as bad as I think it is.


	3. Chapter 3

Notes: Thanks for coming back. This chapter marks a lot of change for the story, (there's only one more to go after this!). We're definitely starting to get into the yaoi. There is a slight lemon at the end of this chapter, I put it in the "warning" just to remind you. I'm kind of nervous about it because it's the first actual lemon I've ever written…but I would write it for you, fallen-angel. I hope you all enjoy it!

Warning: I have to say that there will be a lot of yaoi in here including a slight lemon at the end of the chapter. Please know your own limits, don't blame me for not knowing them. Thanks.

Disclaimer: I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh.

**Chapter 3**

Although Bakura had no way of knowing, it was two days until the boy reappeared in the prison cell. Eventually it became a pattern for them to meet within this period. Ryou erected a long candle in front of Bakura's cell and lit it every time he had to leave. When the candle burned down to its middle, Ryou returned. So began the only sense of time that Bakura had in the meager cell.

Gradually, the intricate wounds that had driven him near death healed with Ryou's vigilant care. Bakura found that he was able to stay awake longer and longer for Ryou's nightly—he guessed—visits. Unfortunately, at the same time, this meant that during the daytime—maybe—he stayed awake longer and longer waiting for Ryou to arrive.

The boy had become Bakura's lifeline. The cell alone, without the pain from the progressively scarring marks, was torture enough to drive him insane with loneliness. There was not a single soul in the whole entire section of the prison to converse with, just the damp walls of his cage, throwing his own words back at him every time he screamed something in frustration. Bakura had not thought that loneliness of all things would be the most plaguing. He had always been a loner. But in the practically complete darkness it became so glaringly obvious that he had been mistaken.

Hearing the soft patter of Ryou's bare steps at the edge of the tunnel that lead to his captivity was like hearing the harsh desert winds blow wisps of sand around the endless dunes that lay beyond the palace. How Bakura missed those dunes. They symbolized freedom for him, something of which he was desperately in need. When he heard Ryou's naked feet gliding along the stone, eager to meet him, always bringing something new (food, water, companionship, sometimes even maps or books for him to study), was as close to freedom as Bakura reached.

Seeing Ryou near his cell was an even holier experience. He knew now for certain that Ryou was a male due to an unlikely experience that involved Bakura catching a short glimpse of what lay under the slave's ripped tunic, an experience that would not soon be forgotten in all its illicit glory. Bakura knew not why his memory was so phased by that moment, but it mattered not. At least he had knowledge as to the actual gender of his companion.

When Bakura witnessed the first white tendrils of Ryou's bushy mane floating in the darkness, when he saw the crystalline paleness of the boy's tight flesh paired with the creep likeness he bore in his haunted eyes, a part of the tomb robber levitated above the prison. It was such an odd, unquestionably wanted feeling that Bakura thought he would surely be driven mad without it. When asked to explain this, he merely passed it off as the desperation that occurs in prisons. He had come to accept it.

Ryou. Bakura sat in his cell, watching the candle burn quite agonizingly deliberate out of the corner of his vision as he always did, thinking about the boy. He certainly was an oddity. It seemed like an endless amount of time had passed since that day when Bakura awoke to find himself staring at his would-be twin, and still his savior, (indeed he was), refused to speak. The only word that Bakura managed to achieve was the single syllable of his short name. Even this came with much struggle.

Bakura had started with the usual questions. "What is your name?"

Never had the boy done more than his usual blink of response.

"Who are you? Why are you here, taking care of me?"

Ryou wore a paper-thin smile and continued to slather salve on him.

"What do you do here in the palace?"

The grayish blue eyes averted his glance shyly. Bakura had learned not to ask this again.

"Why do you care about me?"

Small smile. Damn it.

"Why do you remain silent? Why do you not speak? TALK TO ME!"

Ryou had flinched at this request, frowning slightly. He stared at Bakura meekly, saying so much with his eyes. The thief king had learned that Ryou spoke with those cloudy sea foam eyes. He adapted to this and came to understand Ryou's silent speech; never to the point where they upheld long conversations, but Bakura hated meaningless talk anyway. In some ways, he liked the boy's quietness. It offered reprieve from the vile humanity communicated through oral speech. This was a good thing.

But Bakura needed to have a name. At least that much.

One night, he waited until Ryou was finished administrating care in his quiet way. As usual when Ryou was done, the boy sat back at an angle to Bakura's direct line of vision with his hands folded waiting to be told to do something, enjoying the silent conversation.

"What is your name?" Bakura started.

Ryou glanced at him and smiled.

Heh, he had barely expected to achieve much with his first attempt. So he tried again. "I need to know this. What is your name?"

The boy began to show signs of discomfort, wringing his hands, darting his eyes across all corners of the cell, pleading with Bakura to change the subject. This had been anticipated. Nothing came easily with Ryou.

"There is no reason to remain silent. Tell me. What is your name?" Bakura went through great lengths to control the volume of his voice to seem…almost…pleasant. He hated it, but he wanted that name. He _wanted_ it, damn it.

Ryou lips curled against each other. His eyes did not seem frightened, just sad. Bakura was used to this sadness. Apparently, Ryou was rarely happy. Still he hated causing Ryou sadness. The boy just did not deserve it. Some people might say that the heartless tomb robber offered kindness to no one and those same people were entirely incorrect. Bakura was not heartless; the only thing others would deem wrong with him is the cruel sense of justice he had obtained through the years. People—he had realized at an early age—deserved their fate. And those that had a fate they did not deserve were victims. Ryou did not deserve to be sad. By causing him sadness, Bakura saw it that he was victimizing Ryou and this was strictly against his dearest wishes.

However, in order for anything to be gained, they both needed to bleed somewhat. So he persisted still. "My name is Bakura. What is yours?"

Bakura. He had released the vital information of his own name. It was dangerous he knew. There was no telling whether or not Ryou knew the name Bakura, hated it, and longed for revenge himself, (though, he thought this unlikely). He barely even cared. The desperate prisoner _wanted_ that name. _Wanted_.

Amazingly, as soon as Ryou heard the name Bakura something within him crystallized at the beauty. So finally his poor victim had a name. Ba…ku…rah…silently he tasted the name on his tongue. He liked it. Bakura. Bakura the Prisoner. Bakura the Insensitive. Bakura the Divine. Bakura Who Listened with His Eyes.

He moved quietly to the side of Bakura. The pale skin of the slave suddenly longed to come in contact with this man's, whose eyes were now lingering on him in a cautious manner, (had the tomb robber been incorrect in his reasoning? Did the weak-looking boy want revenge for people killed? Should he be…worried?). He thought about stroking the man's forehead—Bakura always seemed to enjoy this—but decided against it. Instead, he laid his head on a single muscular shoulder.

"Ryou," the boy mumbled.

Bakura had stiffened with the sudden contact, feeling slightly crowded again. Just as he was ready to lash out he heard the word.

"What was that? What did you say?"

Delicate eyelids fluttered closed in comfort. "Ryou," he whispered again.

At long last, his savior had a name. Satisfied, Bakura relaxed under the feel of the small head on his shoulder. From this moment on, he learned to accept the feeling of being crowded by Ryou—only Ryou, however. No one else. Incidentally, the fragile boy stayed there on his shoulder until the end of the night. In the morning, he awoke looking scared and hurried out of there barely remembering to light the candle. Bakura knew that he would be in trouble. Slaves did not sleep late. But still, it was nice while it lasted.

Sitting there in the darkness, the imprisoned thief let thoughts of Ryou wash over his mind. He knew that he spent way too much time thinking about the boy when he should be devoting all his attention to the master plan, (he still created escape routes for himself with the maps and the books that Ryou randomly brought with him). There was nothing else to occupy his mind except visions of revenge, so he had much time to contemplate. However the plan seemed so impossible at this point. Ryou barely found time to escape to the dungeons. It made no sense that he could leave this place without magic.

Magic…if only he had the Sen-Nin items once more. They had been so horribly stolen from him, such unfairness. But there was no way to get the items again from behind these slimy cage bars. Every time he found himself longing for these magical golden shadow powers, he forced the yearnings to the bottom of his stomach. Not until he could escape…then…then glory would be his.

Plans were made then cast aside. Nothing seemed to work. It was all so unfeasible. He hated it. He hated his inability to concoct something effective. He hated the bleakness of things.

No. No, things were not bleak. Think of all that he had.

Ryou. There was Ryou, his brightly lit candle in the darkness. Ryou. Glorious Ryou with his kindness and silence…wonderful Ryou…Bakura's eyes closed as he continued to savor theses thoughts of Ryou.

A likeness of the boy was called to his mind. Behind his eyelids he watched the boy, seeing him move with the grace and subtlety of such a discreet, warm-hearted creature.

Grappling with the emotions that always came with thoughts of Ryou, Bakura was surprised to find something new amid all the…care, (did he care about Ryou? He cared about him, yes. Enough for…emotional attachment? No, he thought not. Ryou was a lifeline, nothing more. Bakura relied on him for a lot and that was the root of their relationship. Nothing more, of course). Something ravaging.

Lust.

It came like a spark on a cold night. All of his internal emotions—hateful and angry as they were always were—seemed like sleeping compared to this new arousal. Almost subconsciously, the thief king raised a hand and slid it down his own body…feeling for the site of his arousal in his figure's front …

Upon grasping the erection, (surprisingly stiff as it was), Bakura awoke from his trance, darkness meeting his demanding vision. What the…hell? Apparently this was a new emotion he felt for Ryou. Attraction?

_This is ridiculous…_he thought. _I've been locked up for too long. He is just a boy, unattractive and puny. Why do I feel this way? Of course I do not. It is all in my head, the result of imprisonment. _

Even while he said this to himself, disappointment rose within him as his length wilted. He tried to shake it off but it was like a stain. A bloody stain. Those never washed off.

Ryou…irrepressibly, his thoughts returned to the boy.

Alas! The candle. He whipped his head around to face the burning light. The flame was passed the middle.

Ryou was late.

------------------------

"Why do I give myself up like this, Ryou?"

His master always did have an insufferably ugly face. Years of sun bathing without protection had left his skin like leather, tough and unsightly. Tooth decay ripped through his mouth, leaving countless empty spaces were teeth were supposed to be rooted. Beady eyes—they always remained Ryou of a beetle's—bore down at him from the high place.

"You are such a useless servant. Why, in the name of Pharaoh Atemu himself, do I suffer for you?"

The high place was not really that high, Ryou supposed. His master was merely standing on his own two feet. But it looked extremely high from Ryou's low position, kneeling on all fours before the grueling man.

Ryou was in trouble. That much was obvious. His master, less than pleased, had stopped him earlier on in the evening just before he was heading down to meet Bakura again. "Where are you going, Ryou?" he had asked, nearly cracking the boy's thin wrist with an unnecessarily strong grip. "I gave no permission."

Now his master stood before him, overbearing and terrible in completeness. Ryou spotted the horse whip behind his back and eyed it with a sort of acceptance. He had tempted fate throughout the entire two months of nursing Bakura back to health and enjoying his fierce company. (Fierce? Yes, it was. But not fierce like his master was fierce. Fierce in a sort of…kind way. Was that possible? Fierce in a kind way? Ryou was not positive, but it barely mattered now.) His master had finally realized that in the middle of the night Ryou was not always in his slave's bed. Finally.

"You shame my family with your incompetence. Every single mistake you make—do you realize this?—reflects on me! I have been humiliated in front of the high court itself because of your inability to function like a proper slave! So tell me, Ryou. Tell me. Why do I keep you with me? Why?"

Ryou kept his head down in silence. Really, he did not believe that his master expected sounds to come from him. For years he had not spoken a word to the high man. "Of course you don't speak. You hide from life, Ryou. You hide! It is weak and disgusting, just like the dishonor you have caused me."

Ryou closed his eyes. Never did his master ever say something that actually affected him, but sometimes Ryou felt minor stings after the words he spewed. Now was a perfect example. He did not hide…did he? No…but…did he?

"Punishment is in order, slave. It is passed due, I believe, as well. Remove your shirt."

Of course he complied with the request, as if he had a choice. The beatings commenced in anger, as they always did. Ryou braced himself for them and accepted them when they came crashing against his back like a female tiger's claws mauling one of her kittens.

Throughout it all, he concentrated on Bakura's face. He found that this made the pain lessen.

------------------------

Back and forth. Side to side. One slick wall to another slick wall. Bakura was pacing his cell in agitation.

Where was Ryou? The candle was almost reduced to a puddle of wet wax. This had never happened before.

Was he alright? Had any harm come to him? Had someone found out about these late night escapades the boy went on? Was it…punishment that kept him so far away from Bakura?

He shook these thoughts. That was the worst case scenario. Most probably, Ryou had just been held up by chores or some slave work that needed to be done, (he never actually made sure of what work Ryou did in the palace). That must be it. Of course.

But why was it taking so long? What vile, unholy mutilation of fate could possibly keep them apart for this excruciatingly long block of time?

A long stream of breath exhaled from Bakura's thin lipped mouth. _Alright. This could be worse than it is. The candle could be enveloped by darkness right now._

Suddenly the lights went out.

Curses erupted through the cell. "Damned hell-beasts of unblessed priest-bitches…" Why did he have to tempt fate with that thought?

_Forget this foolishness. Ryou is not here. That is the most important matter, right now. Think. Where could he be?_

Anywhere. But most likely—Bakura did not know why, he just had an eerie premonition—it was something painful that prevented him. This did not bode well.

_Damn you, Ryou. Why have you made me so attached to you?_ He felt like a child, clinging to his mother's robes for comfort. No one had ever made him feel this way before. Why suddenly with Ryou? Did the boy have such a great effect on him? His mind turned back to the incident only a few candle-burnings before. The incident in which he had felt so aroused it was almost profane. That thought made him smile. Profane. For a tomb robber that had no boundaries, the word had such a perverse meaning…he found it quite amusing, really.

Still, he was greatly disturbed by the effect this boy had had on him. This was against all the rules he had set for himself regarding the subject of "love". He hated that word. Love. Bakura hated that word more than any other word that had ever been uttered. It was such a lie. There was no such thing as love, just cheap attachments that human beings felt every now and then. They came and went. Nothing was permanent in Egypt. Nothing was permanent with humans. He had heard words of "love" when he was a child. Surely his parents had spoken them before. Had he even "loved" them? He did not know. Maybe. But they were dead now, tortured, then murdered like the rest of Kul Elna. Could you still "love" someone after they were dead? He thought not. It was contrary to the farce that was "love" in the first place.

"Love". He laughed suddenly, like a rush of crazed mania had taken over. It was quiet; merely a smirk in the darkness, but the sound of it was distorted to his ears. He adored that sound. Laughter was his own unalterable insolence that remained no matter what happened in the world. His secret self-indulgent mark of satisfaction. Laughter. Unlike "love", laughter was real.

Dizziness crept up on him. It seemed as though his head was spinning. Too much pacing, he reasoned. He should sit down.

And so he did. Leaning against the wall of the prison, he allowed himself to slide down into a sitting position. The cell was now covered in complete darkness as it was in the beginning of his sentence. Should he allow himself to worry? He was already worrying, that much had been taken care of.

If it just was not for the loneliness…he missed Ryou. That was it. Nothing about this "love" nonsense. He just missed the boy in all his paleness and silence.

It was stupid of him to expect to be coddled like a child. Ryou had a life outside this dungeon. How could he demand such constant presence of the boy? It was unjust. And yet…that did not prohibit the thief king from longing for the softness of his touch.

Forget his touch. Just the sight of him would do for right now…something other than visions…

The pitter-patter of light, barefooted feet slipped their way to Bakura's ears.

Harsh gray-blue eyes sprang open. Was it…Ryou? No, it was probably just his mind tricking him again. Oh, how many times that had happened. Innumerably it seemed, almost. The eyes closed again. Why hope?

Yet, the noise did not cease. It continued. Unlike all the previous times, as well—these footsteps sounded hurried. Running. This barefooted person was running towards his cell bringing a dim promise of light and companionship with each step. Could it be?

After an eternity of waiting, the light finally reached him. Holding the torch was his ever-faithful Ryou.

An internal sigh fell within Bakura. At last, at long last the boy was back with him. But he must not show his gratitude—that would admit to having unstable feelings, the ultimate thing he hid.

Putting on a show of apathy, the now calm tomb robber growled, "You are late. Do not do that to me. Ever again."

In Ryou's eyes shown sorrow. He was sorry it seemed. _Apology accepted_, thought Bakura. As long as he could see the boy's face. Ryou pulled out the key he had for the lock, (at first he had been using only a butter knife or some such thing, but it was very difficult to lock the door with that same knife. So the young slave had taken it upon himself to steal the key from a drunken guard's belt and that was used ever since), and solemnly opened the cell door.

It was as if sadness radiated off him like infectious smog. Bakura caught the illness as soon as Ryou entered. What could possibly be that saddening, Bakura wondered, to make anyone in the world so pitiful?

Bakura continued to watch the boy's movements as he came closer to him and unwrapped some food he had stolen from the kitchens. Fresh, buttery biscuits with tender meat pieces in them. By Ra, did the thief king so adore these biscuits. He took them as a special treat, an addition to the boy's apology.

"You are forgiven," he mumbled, snatched the biscuit out of the cloth and shoved it in his face. Glorious food…the taste of exquisite, well-prepared meat on floury, buttery bread…saliva dripped through the corners of Bakura's mouth as he chewed.

Ryou looked down while his prisoner ate. Bakura found this interesting. Although Ryou's foggy eyes were fixated on the floor, it was as if he saw something else. He was looking past the slimy tile and seeing something entirely different—something that made him absolutely miserable. Rising in Bakura was a feeling that he wanted to kill whatever Ryou saw vicariously through the floor. He would kill whoever made this precious boy so unhappy.

"Whuff's wrong?" Bakura managed through a mouthful of food, which had suddenly lost its heavenly taste after seeing Ryou so depressed.

Not even a slight twitch showed response.

Bakura swallowed and moved closer to his companion, inspecting him with harsh flicks of his eyes. The boy looked about the same, except for the eyes. He was dirty and unwashed, his hair wafted out from behind him like such an unruly cloud, and none of his clothes fit his bony figure well, (the shirt hung off his shoulder by a good amount). But there was something different…

The cunning eyes of the tomb robber spotted it. Blackish purple marks on the left side of his innocent face. His stony heart fell. Was this…his fault?

"What the hell happened to your face?" he demanded, wiping a curtain of hair away from the bruises, (a piece of hair that Ryou had obviously placed there purposely to hide the marks).

Ryou looked at the man looking back at him. There was a feeling undulating within him that felt so reminiscent of looking at the velvety Egyptian sky—at night, just before he had to go inside with the water basin for his master's bath. Beautiful. So Beautiful.

He could not explain why Bakura made him feel so special, so meaningful, so significant (despite the ugly beatings that leered to the world from his face—the master had been dissatisfied with just the whip on that night)…but he loved feeling that way. The young boy knew that if he had been forced to live without feeling this incomparable swelling within his heart, life would be something of a hell. He did not want to lose this feeling, (this feeling that made his breath hitch in his throat and his skin become like delicate rose petals that when touched quivered before disintegrating to the ground). He wanted to revel in it, live in it. Never leave Bakura's side. Ryou made up his mind right then: He would do whatever the thief asked of him, sacrifice his very life to him if need be, and make absolutely sure that Bakura never suffered.

Astoundingly, all these marvelous emotions made him smile. Tugging at his lips was an emotion that seemed almost alien to him. Happiness, was it? Was the feeling happiness? He supposed it was.

Bakura looked on as this abused, violated boy suddenly projected a full hearted smile at him. Every single one of the boy's teeth, as well as some of his cavernous mouth, could be seen through this smile. Ryou looked…almost gleeful.

"What's that? What are you smiling about?"

Ryou continued to look gleeful, staring straight at him with his happiness. Almost like he was challenging him with it.

Bakura was up for a challenge—it's not like the smiles frightened him or anything of that nature—he just did not understand them. Oh well. There were more pressing subjects to this, anyway. Choosing to ignore the unexplained cheerfulness, he moved on to a different subject. "Who did this to you?"

With that, the smiles quickly faded from Ryou's face, as if Bakura had taken a rag and simply erased them like dust. His first instinct was to apologize but he abandoned that. This boy needed to explain all this to him first—before any apologies were made. Even if he did…enjoy seeing the boy happy, it was no concern of his whether or not he needed an apology. Was it? Maybe that's all that Ryou did need…to hell with it.

Ryou seemed to have suddenly lost his initial optimism. He stared at the floor and shook his head. There was not one nerve in his body that condoned telling Bakura of his master and the cruelty he suffered at that man's hand. Why should Bakura need to know of this? That man was his burden and his alone.

Bakura watched Ryou's discreet reaction. An untrained eye probably could not even see the negative head shake Ryou presented. But Bakura saw it. He knew that Ryou was trying to hide the details of this from him. Why would he do that? Who could have possibly beaten him so badly and then not deserve punishment?

The thief king thought. There were quite a number of things that Ryou had not told him about the life he led in the palace. Bakura could guess from the boy's dirty attire and weak appearance, but nothing else really helped him in the matter. Perhaps he was a slave who had received a beating from his master for some kind of misdeed. Bakura had suspected this all along. But then, did that make the abuse his fault? For knowing that the boy could likely get a whipping for his sake, and then doing nothing to stop it? For needing help in the first place?

This was all so confusing…he wished that Ryou would reach beyond his strict boundaries of speech and tell him what had happened. Bakura knew, however, that Ryou would never do that. So, like all the countless other times, he was forced to guess the problem.

"Your master? Did your master do this to you?"

Ryou twitched. Aha. He had struck upon something.

How? The boy's mind worked fast. How had Bakura known? His gaze slowly rose to meet that of the prisoner's. How? Had he just guessed that? Had he known all along that Ryou was nothing but a frail, inconsequential slave, consistently unable to do anything correctly? A slave who…hid from life, as his master had told him. (Why had those words stuck so deeply within him?)

When the tomb robber looked into the eyes of his savior, he saw emotion twinkling on the edge of reason. Ryou stared at him with such intensity Bakura was surprised to find that he almost had to look away. Luckily, he controlled himself and continued to hold the gaze with strong if not equal force.

With slight regret, Bakura realized that his hand was still resting on the side of Ryou's face. Why did he feel regretful? If anything, having his hand there would be a relief. It gave him some small power over the boy, (like he needed anymore power, but that last gaze had shaken his masculinity). He left it where it was.

"Tell me what happened." As he said this, the thief's left hand began softly caressing Ryou's beaten side, moving in time with his speech.

The boy closed his eyes against the touch. His interior had begun to swell again. He wanted to tell Bakura what happened, he really did. But he just…could not. Why should he tarnish the prisoner with his voice? He hated speaking, loathed it with every part of him that was whole. Silence was his subliminal testimony to the ugliness of life. Ryou was unable to speak.

Bakura could not at all describe the emotion within him as frustration. With the silence, Ryou had already told him so much. But he doubted that the facial bruises were all that his master gave.

"What else did he do, Ryou?" he asked calmly, continuing his quiet ministrations. (The thief king had assumed the master was a male, but he really had no idea.)

The fragile slave, who had begun to lean into the tender touch with inexpressible need, now opened his eyes and moved back. Startled, Bakura was about to pour out his apologies, thinking that Ryou had been hurt by this request. But then his slender companion stood up, pulled his hair to the front, and removed his unkempt shirt in one movement.

At first, shivers attacked Bakura upon seeing the bare flesh of his healer—something he had only seen in imagination up until now. However, his sensual side was only fleetingly aroused as in the next few seconds Ryou turned around and showed the marred part of him: His back.

Long, four feet lashes scraped their way across the boy's pale flesh, leaving lines of bloody, irritated abrasions in their wake. Ryou must have had at least ten pinkish-red, (the color of coral), lashes on him that were fresh. The bulk of the marks came from the past, as Bakura suspected by seeing the countless milky white scars that followed similar patterns. This boy was definitely a slave. He had been beaten all his life.

The deadly gray-blues on Bakura's face flashed with seriousness. This offense was not just an offense on Ryou. It was for him. Ryou had been punished unnecessarily, for Bakura's own sake. That made him a victim. This offense would not be taken lightly. If Bakura ever got out of here, he vowed to kill the man who had done such a wicked thing to his Ryou, and he would not do it quietly. No, he would make the bastard suffer within an inch of sanity until he begged him for death between bloody gasps for breath—

Wait. _His_ Ryou? That's what he had called him. Since when did Ryou belong to him?

Well…Bakura supposed. _He does belong to me._ It was apparent that no one else in the world cared for the boy very much, (in a similar way to how the rest of the world loathed the sight of the notorious Tomb Robber of Akhenamkhanen). So why should he not belong to Bakura? He cared for him—that much was certain—and he vowed retribution on his behalf. That alone was reason enough.

The thief king's mind smirked. He liked the idea of having Ryou with him whenever he wanted. He liked the idea of owning him.

But currently, the prisoner was in deep distress. His Ryou had been severely hurt. Grasping onto the wall of support, (he was still not very good at the walking thing, a slight aftereffect of his injuries), Bakura pulled himself up and moved up against the boy's back, laying coarse-skinned hands on the slave's beaten shoulders.

Visibly, Ryou shook. He normally did not like to be touched anywhere near his back; it only began the pain again. But, when Bakura did it…somehow it felt better. Like the pain was actually lessening rather than increasing. Then why the shaking? He could not explain it. All the same, the rising in his chest had never fully gone away.

Bakura leaned against the body in front of him, making sure not to touch the wounds or irritate any further. He put his mouth directly next to the boy's ear and whispered, "Whoever has done this to you will pay. I will make them suffer as much as you did. More. Now. You have you to tell me. Who did this?"

Ryou listened to the words, but he did not really hear them. Yes, there were some threats there. To him? No, he was sure that Bakura was threatening whoever had harmed him. (At least, he hoped. Bakura had threatened his life before…only once had he ever raised a hand to him. But the thief had stopped before anything got too far. Ryou was glad for that. And he had actually deserved that almost-beating as well. He left Bakura in the dungeons alone for over a week without reason. He had been thinking of leaving him there to end their relationship after his wounds could heal on their own. Of course, this was impossible. So he had returned after a week to an angered Bakura—one with a hand ready to strike him.) Yet, the words uttered washed over him quickly, with an equal sensation as had the earlier caresses. He never fully absorbed their meaning. He did not care. As long as Bakura kept whispering to him…

There was no answer coming from Ryou. Bakura realized that he was just going to have to drop the subject, (for now). Later maybe they could talk about this again. Right now, so close to Ryou, the long abandoned captive had other ideas in mind.

With his left hand, Bakura reached to the front of the boy and grasped his fluffy hair. He pulled it slowly back behind him and turned to direct his full attention to it.

Darkened, thin hands spread the fine, silky material over his fingers, marveling at the delicate feel of it. "You know…" he began, still using a voice barely above a whisper. "I always did love the sight of your hair…it is so much like mine, and yet…it is so much more innocent." Dropping the hair, finally beginning to notice Ryou's shaking and worrying about it slightly, he placed both hands on either side of Ryou's pelvis.

"You are shaking, Ryou. What's wrong?" He did not expect nor want an answer to that question.

All these advances were affecting Ryou. He was fully aware that his shaking had become more noticeable but he could not identify the cause of them. Was it anticipation, (he was not so innocent that he did not know where this was going)? Was it the flutters within him? Was it fear? Did he want this?

Bakura slowly moved his hands into the center of Ryou's pelvis, pressing downward slightly.

Ryou's breath caught and he closed his eyes once more. Yes. Yes, he wanted this. He wanted this very much.

Bakura had lost all hope of reasoning out his actions. He could give a damn about them at this point. As a thief, he was a person who acted on feeling. What he wanted, he took. He wanted Ryou. So he would take him and enjoy him, damn it.

The hands on Ryou's lower stomach continued downward, reaching the top of his thighs. Bakura situated his thumbs into the boy's inner thigh and slowly massaged the tight muscles there. A small moan escaped the boy. The tomb robber smirked. So Ryou did enjoy this. Also, it was a sound. Victory at last.

Moving ever so gradually down still, Bakura found the hem of Ryou's tunic. He reached underneath the thin fabric. Fully aware of the heavy breathing coming from his prey, Bakura began to rub his inner thighs once more, with his whole hand. After giving light, teasing touches to Ryou's innocent yet very hard member, (eliciting whimpers of want), he reached out and pulled the tunic down to the floor.

Now the boy was completely nude inside the cell. Bakura was pleased with this. He wanted to see it, though. Putting his hands again on the boy's shoulders, he shifted him, making sure that Ryou would not fall over or be hurt. On slowly moving feet, Ryou's front turned to face Bakura's.

Hungry eyes feasted on the delicious sight of Ryou, (how hungry he had been for this for so long now). White skin matched with white hair, a slight blush tinting the needy face…Ryou himself was…beautiful.

Bakura wrapped his arms around the boy's lower back and pulled him directly up against him with minor cries in return. "You are so beautiful," he panted into Ryou's face. How he desired this boy.

Throwing off his clothes as if shirking any last bits of impermanence, Bakura brought his lips to meet his companion's. As if massaging each other, they kissed impatiently. Bakura ripped open Ryou's jaws and licked the cavernous interior; fully welcome to any new sensation he tasted there. What did the boy taste like? It was an unnamed taste, unlike anything he had ever known before. Maybe such a wonderful thing had not been invented yet. Maybe it never would.

Bakura moved his hands to envelop the width of Ryou's small ass, squeezing eagerly. A wanton moan filled the passage of their kiss. The thief smirked again, happy with Ryou's pliability.

Suddenly in need of breath more than pleasure, Bakura pulled away from the temptation of Ryou's mouth. They both paused for a moment, filling their deprived lungs with damp prison air. But the prison itself had been forgotten. They were no longer in the pharaoh's deepest, darkest hell. They were in a place all their own, someplace they could never describe in words, but they knew how it felt to be there. It was a place without fear and pain, without suffering and enemies. It was a place that both of them had wanted to be for their entire gratuitously painful lives.

Hungry again, Bakura pulled Ryou down to the floor of the cell and spread him out beneath him. Ryou's hands were clasped tightly to the skin of Bakura's back and he kept them there, pushing Bakura down upon him. Bakura positioned himself between the supple legs of his lover and allowed Ryou to show him all the places he wanted to be kissed.

Under Ryou's gentle but fervent guidance, Bakura ran his lips along the boy's shoulders moving steadily across to his prominent collarbone. He let himself linger on his region for a brief moment, leaving a noticeable love bite, before moving upward to the soft skin on his neck. Ryou gave distinct groans of pleasure, urging his lover onward, as the prisoner moved to his earlobe and bit down rather forcefully.

A load moan escaped. The more experienced of the two, Bakura chuckled and left that area, running strong hands along the surface of his chest. He found an unnoticed nipple and gently massaged it with his tongue. Ryou whimpered, begging him to move on. Bakura pretended not to comprehend and continued to suck and nibble the now pink piece of flesh. Ryou began to squirm, almost tormented by the pleasure.

Realizing that his lover needed reprieve, Bakura moved farther downward to his pelvis—the beginning of this interaction—which he kissed passionately reaching his lover's very stiff arousal. Not entirely sure how Ryou would handle this, he began to kiss the erection very tenderly, causing it to kick against him in reflex. He smirked and moved down to the head, wrapping his mouth slowly around it. The boy began to moan, heaving his shoulders into the act as if that gave him more relief, and Bakura moved up the shaft at—what seemed to Ryou—an agonizing pace.

Perhaps if he continued this long enough, Ryou would speak. Bakura liked that idea and decided not to offer his lover any moderation. So, his talented tongue continued where he was, deciding that he strongly wanted to hear Ryou's voice.

After a few more moments, it came. Almost inaudible over the suckling sounds, Ryou spoke. "Please…" he whimpered. "Please, Bakura…"

That was enough. He had heard the plea—as well as his name, which offered much arousal for him—and was satisfied with it. The tomb robber could ask no more of his lover. So, removing Ryou's erection after tasting slight pre-cum, he positioned himself and entered. They came at relatively the same time, creating a sense of unity with it, something both of them enjoyed.

Lying together on the now warm prison floor, Ryou wrapped Bakura around himself in an intricate embrace. He had done acts like that before with unkind men, (slaves never remained virgin for long), so he had expected something like that. But Bakura had shown him something different with his love. There was no question which one he preferred. As he lay in the arms of the prisoner, whom he met only by chance, he could not help feeling happy. Happy? Oh yes. Quite. This man…this beautiful, wonderful, kind, passionate man who listened with his eyes…this man completed him.

Bakura eyes closed slowly, content with the feeling of Ryou safe in his arms. All thoughts of revenge, of the pharaoh, of the lost victims of Kul Elna, of the Sen-Nin items had left him momentarily. Right now there was Ryou and that was very much desirable.

He fell asleep shortly after that. It was a warm unconsciousness, much like with what it was supposed to be: Sleep.

A/N: Wow, ok…what did you guys think? Was it bad? Ah, not bad for someone whose never written a lemon before. Thanks guys.

Let me just ask…does anyone think that Bakura is slightly OOC? It might seem a little farfetched that he actually loves Ryou, but in my opinion…let him be the judge of that. Most of this confusing aspect will be explained in the next chapter. Hopefully you guys will stick with me, thanks for reading.


	4. Chapter 4

Notes: Hi, guys. Ah, the end. It was fun while it lasted, I have to say. Some of you might be upset by the end of this, (it's kind of a twsit ending,I guess),but…we'll see. I know I have not responded to all the reviews yet, (I'll get on that as soon as possible, promised). The only thing I wanted to do was upload this chapter in case I'm not around to do it later. Anyway, enjoy! (wipes tears for the last pre-chapter notes)

Warning: Much blood, much violence, much yaoi…ah, you all know by now.

Disclaimer: I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh.

**Chapter 4**

In the days and weeks that followed, Bakura found himself enlightened. It was a strange enlightenment; the subject he realized was one he had known all along. But still, it was enlightenment nonetheless. The flickering yellow dot from Ryou's candle burned promisingly in front of where he sat, leaning against the wall. He had a dark expression was fixed on his features, the trademark look he wore whenever a plan began to develop. He had been silent for a very long time, barely blinking he was so deeply embedded in a state of concentration. The corners of his mouth began to flicker.

The Sen-Nin items. He had thought them out of reach from the cell he resided within. But were they? By all logical standpoints, he had access to the above ground world: Through Ryou, of course. Ryou could get into any place he wanted, he had full range of the palace (minus the holy places), being a slave. He could surely find the Sen-Nin Ring, which had been stolen from so unjustly.

Could Ryou get the Sen-Nin Ring for him? Yes. He did think it was possible. It would be asking a lot of the boy, maybe…but…Bakura allowed his thoughts to drift to the night before. A night like so many others before it, the two white haired men had fallen to the floor in heated passion. His emotions elevated themselves at the mere memory of it…Ryou lying underneath him, face contorted in pleasure, delightfully pale body twisted to his design…

By effect, the thief remembered the end of that night in which Ryou had left him with only the candle's meager light for sustenance. Their nights always ended so tragically. Just the separation was tragic, he felt. Although after the beating, Ryou made sure that he returned to his bed on time, as much as it hurt him to leave Bakura in the darkness.

His left fist clenched in anger. Bakura hated that their meetings had to be controlled by someone else's wishes. Why should it? The relationship between them was something private, something no one in the world besides the two of them should be able to dictate.

If Ryou stole—stole? Is that what his lover would be doing? Stealing? Bakura found this strangely appealing. _Heh. Stealing. Something my lover is not accustomed to…_The idea of tempting Ryou into the darker more criminal side of life excited him.

It was settled, then. He would bring the proposal up that very night, if the candle had burned halfway. If not, then the night after.

A smirk developed fully on his face. The plan was complete. _Burn, candle, burn. _

_--------------------------------------_

"Why give up like that, Ryou?"

Ryou was nestled in Bakura's strong, protective embrace. Both were entwined in a mess of limbs and sweat after their ardent display of love making. It was the night after Bakura's plan hatched. The mood had been calm; the stench of their passions still lingering in the stagnant dungeon air, their flesh still tingling from the last remnants of divine touch. Ryou adored this time in the night. It usually assumed the perfection—suspension in the warm, luscious space between life and love. Sometimes he almost forgot that there was a life beyond this dungeon.

But that was not this night.

This night, the thief king had broken their usual unbreakable silence with quiet words. It started with a single whisper. Ryou had felt it coming before it actually came. Bakura leaned his head down into his lover's ear, gently stroking him with sleek, polished words—quite different from his normal coarse tone—and proposed a challenge.

"I need your help with something, Ryou." There was no need for a preamble. Bakura expected no response; the words were falling into a lively ear connected to a mute mouth. Why not be straight to the point?

Ryou was startled by the sudden sounds. Apparently, Bakura had devised an escape plan. He wanted to leave the dungeon but needed help with…something.

The exhausted slave was half asleep when the ideas entered his brain through the vulnerable, unlocked and caressed passageway that was his ear. Bakura never moved his voice above a whisper the entire time he spoke. Throughout every word, every meticulously kind utterance that his lover yielded, the thief maintained a demeanor that resembled beauty. Beauty? Was that his lover's manner? Ryou thought. Well, it resembled beauty, but was not. This was Bakura, after all. He hardly ever put up a sweet disposition—except in love making, though not even really then.

The boy found himself faced with tenderness and an unruly hand that traveled up and down his bare leg as the thief said, "The Sen-Nin items. Surely you've heard of them…they are the pharaoh's pride, you know. I need those Items, Ryou. I cannot escape without them." All of this caused a well-known bubbly pattern to arise within him. Yet, something unfamiliar clung to him, as well. Disappointment? Betrayal? Could that be the unfamiliar thing? Indeed. Ryou's swellings deflated immediately.

Escape? Bakura wanted to leave? That was it? He had been in this dungeon for about three or four months—such a short time compared to that which Ryou knew for periods of suffering. Now he wanted escape? No, he demanded it. He wanted to leave then? He was…(could he even bare to imagine it?)…leaving Ryou? Tears prickled the boy's eyes as Bakura continued to speak.

"I have to get out of this godsforsaken hell. Do you understand? I cannot forget about the freedom I once had, and I do not wish to. Why give up like that, Ryou? I know that I cannot stay in here for very much longer without completely going insane." Insane? Bakura found it maddening to be here with him? But…Ryou had loved it so much. He loved coming to the prisons. Here, secluded from everyone, he could release all of what he kept hidden from the cruel above world. He showed himself to Bakura, opened his mind and his heart to the prisoner, letting the man explore his very self until he fitted it like a stray dog on a pile of bed-sheets—just to his liking. Was Ryou not enough for the tomb robber that now he wanted to leave forever? The tears brimmed on the lower half of his eyelids.

"Of course, you will escape as well. I would not leave you behind in this prison to live out your days for someone else's bidding. Never. No, you will come with me, Ryou."

What? Ryou's eyes flew open, meeting the lower half of his lover's face. Bakura was staring into the space in front of them. His lips and his hand were moving, but he looked as though in a distant land. But…he had said…that Ryou was…to go…as well? He wanted to escape with the boy? In truth?

Unable to contain his surprise and his happiness, (all tears forgotten momentarily), Ryou leapt out of the embrace, moving directly in Bakura's starry line of vision. Startled, the tomb robber stopped talking and thinking. Indeed, he had not been mindful of his words. As often when in the company of Ryou, his words just poured out into the silence filling up the void. Because Ryou never spoke, Bakura had been yoked with the burden of speaking enough for both of them, which he did quite frequently against his will.

Damn it. Now what had he said to upset the boy? Ryou's foggy eyes seemed even foggier with a glimpse of what looked like tears. What? What had he said?

"What? What's wrong?" Still he asked these stupid questions, never anticipating an answer. Then why the hell did he say them? Damn it all. Frantically, he raked through his memory for some help in what he had just said. Alright, it was about the plan. The Sen-Nin items? Maybe? Oh, Ra curse it, the boy was looking at him with eyes as wide as the dinner dish-plates served in the palace. What on all hell had he said, damn it?

"The Sen-Nin Items? Have you heard of them?" It was possible. No response. Alright. What else had he said? Ryou accompanying him in the breakout? Possibly. "You are coming with me. You know that, right?"

Aha, a reaction. Ryou moved closer to him, eyes taking on the persona of an emotion so fierce that Bakura recoiled. "Of course you are coming with me. I offer no option in the matter." Did the boy…want to stay?

Lips, red and swollen from prior kisses, began to tremble. Just when Bakura thought he was needed to insist upon Ryou's accompaniment, the boy thrust himself forward into the thief's chest. Tears leaked out of his eyes, but he wore such a smile. Happy. Bakura had come to notice that the smile meant happiness.

Shaking his head, Bakura began stroking the flesh on the scarred back. "Ryou, did you honestly think I would leave you here?"

Ryou heard the question. Yes, he had. So many things had been stolen from him before, so many people throwing him away like trash. In all his life, Ryou had had a total of five masters, each one for a different stage of his life. He had no parents that he could remember, though often he fantasized about what they were like. He once had a sister, but she had been stolen from him rather viciously eventually. The only person in his life now was Bakura. Complacently, Ryou would have expected to be discarded by him. But apparently that was not the thief king's plan. Oh…how Ryou adored his lover.

Suddenly Ryou knew what he had to do. So, his lover wanted him to steal the precious Sen-Nin items from where they lay in the High Priest's Chamber? It was risky, yes, of course it was. Stealing was always a risky business. But Bakura wanted those items. And Bakura would get those items. No matter what.

"I would not, Ryou. Do not ever think that."

White hair shifted as the boy looked up. He nodded.

Deciding that his lover was in a rather agreeable mood presently, he took advantage of it. "I need you to steal those items, Ryou. Will you do that? Can you?"

Another nod. This one more vicious.

"Alright then." Bakura closed his eyes in ecstasy. It was settled. The plan was sealed. His escape was so near he could truly taste it…the harsh desert sands, the salty, abrasive wind that scarred him willingly in gusts of impatience…holding the secrets of a millennia worth of deaths and murders…the very blood of the ages stained into their boundless depths…

Ryou. Good Ryou. Precious Ryou. Now Bakura was aroused again. Oh, lovely Ryou. Sweeping the figure into his arms, Bakura leaned over his small, tear stained face and enveloped his mouth in a harsh, demanding kiss that relayed all of his yearnings for freedom along with his lust for the boy.

The second time turned out to be better than the first.

--------------------------------

From underneath a thin layer of bed-sheets, two grayish aqua eyes stared like burning, fearful stars in the nighttime darkness. Cold. It was cold in here tonight…the bed-sheets were wrapped around him but he was still cold. Was it the constant wind that blew angrily through the open window on his side of the large room? No, no it was not that. This cold seemed to be generated from somewhere inside himself. It flowed out from the pours on his skin, leaking onto the sheets creating pools of freeze wherever they spilled.

When Ryou needed to blink, he squeezed his eyes shut tightly for several seconds before opening them again. He was trying to blink away the nervousness—the cold that lay inside him. Tonight was the night we would prove to Bakura that he would do anything for him. Tonight was the night he would steal the Sen-Nin items.

Bakura had been clear. He wanted as many as Ryou could find in the Chamber. Ryou was not sure how to hide all of these items…he was not sure what to expect from the Chamber itself. What would he find there? What would it be like? Would there be guards? What then?

Guards…they did pose as a problem. Bakura had told him to take a knife, just in case. A knife? But he could not…kill anyone, could he? Ryou blinked for a period of two minutes. Could he? If Bakura wished it, he would have to. Another blinking session.

Snoring could he heard in the background. His master was fast asleep. Such old men retired early these days. Normally, tonight would be a night to visit Bakura…Ryou lamented his being robbed of this experience for tonight. Instead of stealing the pharaoh's most precious possessions, he would have much preferred sneaking into the dungeons for a night of passionate love making that often lasted deep into the morning.

Morning. Ryou blinked and wrapped the sheets around him tighter. Where would he be in the morning? Would all this now be over, Bakura charging forward in his escape plan? Would Ryou now be in a cell adjacent to his lover's—or far away from his lover's in another section of the dungeon? The latter was too much to bear. He could not stand being away from Bakura forever…if only he had had more experience with situations like these, maybe he would be ready…after all, stealing a few dusty old scrolls from the palace library and a butter knife from the kitchen drawer were nothing to be proud of. Children at his age and in his same position had often made hobbies out of stealing things by now…why could he not be one of those slave children?

For a brief second, Ryou flipped the sheets over his head. He did not want to do this and fail, ruining his chance to be with Bakura for the rest of his life. Did he even want to do this and succeed, changing his home and life forever? There was no way to be certain. Underneath the sheets, Ryou whimpered a little. He just wanted tonight to be over.

A particularly loud snore from the master's bedroom shocked him out of his lamenting. He threw the sheets over his head and turned to face the moon. Judging by its position, it was almost midnight. There was only a little time to do this while the guards changed shift at the start of a new day. Forget this childishness of weeping and whimpering like a little girl who had fallen down while playing. Ryou was no longer a child, not since Bakura. He would prove his manhood to Bakura—to himself. Even if that meant going to prison. Bakura _wanted_ the Sen-Nin items. Bakura would have the Sen-Nin items.

In one strong leap, Ryou jumped out of his bed and threw on a brown colored cloak. It was still cold in the palace at this time of night, and he wanted to be seen as minimally as possible. This color would help him blend in more with the shabby brown color of the stone walls around the palace. Perfect, then? Perhaps. He would soon see.

Now he just needed one more thing; the thing that made him quiver with fear not a moment before. On pale soundless feet, Ryou snuck into the main room, adjacent to his master's bedroom. Where was it? He searched the many unlocked trunks, hoping to find the item glinting in the moonlight, defiant with power. All he found was silk, more and more of it, laying in impossibly colorful piles from all around the world. Ryou thought. How much were these worth? They might be useful to Bakura once he escapes. Casting one last glance back at his master's room, Ryou reached into the trunks, grabbed a few handfuls of the silk, and stuffed them into his cloak. He hoped Bakura would be pleased.

But what of the other item? He moved closer to his master's bedroom. Was it…in there? Slowly, he pulled back the curtain that acted as a door. Light spilled onto his master's unsightly appearance. Ignoring that, Ryou peered around the room and searched for the telltale glint in the darkness—aha. He found it, sitting on the table across from his master's bed, maliciously rebellious. Could he reach it?

Moving very slowly, Ryou tiptoed into the room. He made absolutely certain that no sound reverberated off the creaky wooden floor. Never did his gaze move from the painful sight of his master. Snores echoed in his ears, setting his nerves on spikes of anxiety. Ryou decided then and there that he hated snores and would never let anyone snore around him again. At least for the time being, anyway.

After about three minutes, he reached the destination. One swift hand lashed out and caught it, dragging the dagger into the folds of his cloak. It might come in handy. He tiptoed out much the same way he had come in. His master never once awoke.

At the edge of the living space that Ryou and his master dwelled in, Ryou paused for a moment. When was the next time he would see this place again? After the Sen-Nin items were stolen he could certainly never come back. Too risky. In addition, Bakura had stated that he wanted out as soon as possible. Knowing his lover, that probably meant as soon as the Items rested in his eager hands. Most likely, he would never return to this place.

What about that? Did that thought sadden him? Ryou considered it for a moment. Would he miss this place of torture that, no matter how horrible, had still sheltered him for years?

Ha. Ryou's mouth twisted into a laugh. Miss this place. His small mind found it very funny. If only he could speak, he would tell Bakura of it one day. Or maybe not. Tossing the curtain behind his shoulder, Ryou jetted out of the room with a smirk still plastered on his lips. _Good-bye, Master._

So, the boy flew down the endless corridors of the palace, completely focused on what he needed to do. Barely any other thought entered his mind. He thought about what he would do if someone found him lurking through the darkness like this. Basically everyone in the palace knew that Ryou was "the slave that refused to speak", so they probably would only ask a few questions. To allow for some explanation, Ryou had decided to bring a water pouch and a rag with him so that if anyone stopped him, he could brandish this in defense. _Oh, I'm just out for a nightly clean. You understand, do you not? _It sounded odd to his ears, but then again, he would hardly say those words. That made sense, then.

Ryou ran on feet that made slight slippery sounds as he moved gracefully through the corridors. He needed to get to the Pharaoh's quarters, where he and all the other High Priests resided. There were rumors of magical golden items that could rip an entire army to shreds. The same rumors said that these items contained so much power only the Pharaoh and the High Priests themselves could wield them. Thus, they were guarded in a small chamber beyond their bed sections. It was a stretch—(and hardly obtained from a reliable source)—but Ryou had no other choice. Where could the Items be if not near the Pharaoh?

Ryou passed no one on his way to the Pharaoh's chambers. He could not stop praising the gods over this. Such luck! The gods were fond of him tonight for his cause. They wanted him to love.

It was also rumored among the palace that the Pharaoh and all of his High Priests resided within the same corridor so that if anyone ever attacked the Pharaoh, that person would have to defeat the High Priests first. Ryou saw the logic in this, yet he could not trust himself to believe that this was so. After all, he was only a mere slave. Surely the palace and the palace guards had much more intelligence than one such as himself. But he left it up to chance.

Finally he reached the corridor. Of course there were guards in the way. Ryou ducked into a shadowy corner that lay to the guards left. There were only three of them, (it seemed kind of risky to only have three…but he knew that there must be some logical, highly intelligent reason behind this that he could never comprehend with his small slave mind). At the very sight of them, Ryou felt nauseous. He did not want to kill anyone…through a window above his head he gauged the position of the moon. Past midnight. Curses. Was the shift over? Vomit lurched within Ryou's stomach. Would he have to kill these men?

He waited, listening to their conversation with open ears.

"Have you heard the news lately?" One guard asked.

"Be quiet! Do you not remember that Pharaoh Atemu himself sleeps in the corridor behind you?" Another reprimanded.

"No, I have not heard the news. What is it?" The third seemed not to care that the pharaoh slept nearby.

"Fools, both of you." The second turned and ignored their conversation.

"Well, Vizier Siamun seems to be saying that the time has come for the Pharaoh to choose a mate for the sake of the kingdom. I do not know why…the Pharaoh's still pretty young…"

"Who has he chosen?"

"No one, yet. The Pharaoh seems kind of turned off to the idea."

The other snorted. "That's ridiculous. The Pharaoh could have anyone he wanted in the entire kingdom! Why would he refuse such an offer?"

"Do not ask me, I just heard the news, I cannot explain it. The whole thing seems foolish to me. I miss the days when our palace was under attack. Then we actually had something to live for."

The third turned back and retorted with "Do not! How dare you wish such a thing? The gods might be listening—Pharaoh Atemu might be listening. You could be hanged for that statement!"

"No one heard me. There is no one around for quite a ways." Ryou blinked at this assumption.

"How do you know?" Asked one.

"Because if there was someone here they would have attacked us long before we even started this conversation." _Oh?_ Thought Ryou.

"Maybe…that reminds me: When are we going to be relieved of our shift? It is past midnight already and I want to sleep!"

The more reverent guard seemed appalled by their comments. "I cannot believe the both of you. How dare you show such disrespect?"

"Eh, shut up. I am tired of standing here waiting for Ra knows what. I refuse to stand here any longer. My wife is waiting for me up in my room—I could be doing much more rewarding things than this."

"That is going a little bit too far. Are you going to leave?" This sounded like the second one.

"I will. The next shift will be here soon. Come on, let us go."

"Are you mad? I remain here, waiting for the proper reprieve." The third turned his back on the both of them, appalled beyond words.

"Suite yourself, friend. Come, the two of us leave." Ryou watched from the darkness as the guards walked into the distance, the sound of their sandals echoing off the walls in uncaring loudness.

Now only one guard remained, muttering to himself quietly about respect. Ryou could take one guard, right? Could he? Desperately he searched himself for some of the old courage he felt when getting out of bed.

Yes. Yes, he had the courage to do this. For after all, the spirit of Bakura flew heavily within him. Grasping the dagger in his cloak, Ryou prepared to launch out at the last guard. A second's sweat dripped into his eyes and his muscles twitched with the anticipated burden of movement, when suddenly—

"Wait for me, damn it! I cannot stay alone!" The guard ran off to catch up with his friends. They were only teenagers after all.

Ryou dropped his dagger and slumped into a sitting position, panting heavily. He let the sweat drip down his body. _Ra be praised…_he thought. What would have happened if he had had to kill that guard? He shook the thought from his mind.

Gathering up courage stored in hidden pockets inside him, Ryou stood up on shaky legs again and placed the dagger back into his cloak. Now the boy just wanted to get this over with. He walked slowly over to his destination.

Standing at the mouth of the corridor, Ryou felt colder than he had in bed. There was something emanating from this place…something cold. An aura of some sort, he reasoned. Was it holy? Or evil? Whatever it was, it sent waves of chill cascading gently over his skin. Involuntarily he shivered. The Items definitely had to be down there. He could practically feel them calling…

That was foolish. He could not deal with foolishness at the moment. Shaking himself back to reality, the boy marched cautiously into the corridor.

The first thing he noticed was the shine on the walls. The regular dull brown of the palace walls was nothing compared to the ethereal blue that shone from the hieroglyphics carved into these, (Ryou wished he knew how to read them). This was a holy place, no doubt. Maybe this was where the iciness in his skin originated from. The chill of these walls…he had never known such haunting beauty resided in this palace that he shared. How different were these fine, ghostly walls when held up against the black, slimy, blood stained walls of the prison where his lover dwelled.

It was a relief when he finally reached the end of that holy passing. Unfortunately, the antechamber opened up into a vast space lined with many spacious rooms. Ryou guessed it could be called a corridor, if a person who witnessed it wanted to deal cruel injustice on the structure. But Ryou really did not have any other word for it, so corridor it remained in his mind.

The corridor had rooms tucked into its sides which opened into large living spaces. These were nothing like what Ryou had lived in…these had to be at least ten times the size of his. Maybe eleven. He could not tell by mere glance. However, these rooms were shielded with curtains of fine, colorful silk that had been sewn so fine, Ryou could see directly through them if he concentrated.

In the first room he saw a woman with long black hair kneeling in front of a shrine. The shrine held some type of golden necklace. It looked to Ryou as if she was lost in deep prayer, lips moving along with her thoughts. Indeed this woman was beautiful, a slender figure and a curvaceous but modest form. A priestess, no doubt. Ryou nodded his head and moved on, (in prayer she had not seen him).

The next room held a man that looked something like his master. He had a long white beard and white hair, probably turned from old age, and a strange golden eye on the left side of his face. That eye seemed to be held there permanently—something unnatural for any human. The man also seemed sickly to Ryou; he wrapped himself in bed-sheets with spindly hands reminiscent of a spider Ryou had once seen crawling across the well one night. Oh, how he had cried at the sight of that spider. The boy moved on quickly.

Each room had been built great lengths apart from one another. It took Ryou a few moments to reach the next one. In this one he found another man, dressed in priestly robes. His back was to Ryou, as the man stood in front of a large open window, gazing out into the clear night sky. His bald head seemed clouded with worry of some sort. Ryou thought he looked very sad. He walked on to the next one.

In this room, he truly thought he was going to be captured. Sitting right behind the translucent curtain was a man with shoulder length slick black hair, eyes wide open, and lips moving incessantly. Ryou saw him and jumped back a few feet, letting out a slight yelp. He stood in front of the curtain unable to move for the fixation of the man's eyes, frozen there by shock. It took him a few minutes to realize that this man was not going to catch him. He was not even moving. Was he…Ryou flicked his eyes over meditative sitting position he assumed. This man must have been deep in the realm of prayer. Ryou noticed a scale sitting somewhere to his left, made out of pure gold. It shone in the darkness. Ryou decided not to tempt fate, and continued on.

The next room seemed to be old. It looked uninhabited, everything was in disarray. Dust lingered over each piece of furniture; each item ravaged by the judging stomp of time. Had the occupant of this room been killed? Moved away? Ryou searched his memory for some recollection of a killing…yes, one of the High Priests had been killed…by some tomb robber, the rumors had been. He remembered mention of a grave robbing in the process. But very little of the palace affairs ever went through him. He never received a name of the Priest's murderer. Whoever the murderer was, Ryou reasoned, must have been killed by the pharaoh a long time ago.

The next room puzzled Ryou. It looked every bit inhabitable; the bed was made, not a speck of dust floating in the air. Yet, it was empty. Completely. Ryou did not like the thought of someone missing from their room, (someone had to live there…right?), so he quickly skittered to the next one.

Ryou had never really expected to see or ever come close to this room in his life. It just did not happen to a slave. Slaves stayed in their master's rooms, cleaning and sweeping, preparing life for those worthy enough to live it. Slaves never achieved anything astounding, unless they ran away and became infamous around the palace. However, here stood Ryou. In front of the same curtain that housed the Pharaoh.

The boy froze upon seeing him. The curtain stood very still in its place, but Ryou could see directly through it to the form of the Pharaoh as he lay on the bed. Indeed it was Pharaoh Atemu, sleeping naked on his bed of fine, gold spun silk. The tan, golden skin of his form glistened with a thin layer of moisture, probably from a bath or a shower he had just taken. His hair, tri-colored and spiked in defiant prowess, lay beneath his head fanned out over the sheets like a deck of cards. Black outlined eyelids masked the normally intense violets or reds of his irises, a reprieve to his enemies. Surprisingly, Ryou felt his manhood awaken.

Perhaps it was the pharaoh's nude form, (hardly any royal slept in clothes), that captured Ryou so completely. Indeed he was quite an…attractive…enchanting…thrilling…haunting…arousing…exhilarating…beautiful, no gorgeous…fantasy. Yes, that was it. The pharaoh was a fantasy. Yes, Ryou wiped the sweat from his brow and forced himself to believe in fantasies.

However…an idea entered Ryou's mind. Bakura always talked about how he hated the pharaoh with every particle of his soul, every follicle of his skin. Ryou knew not why, but he guessed it was this hate that had gotten Bakura in prison. Never could Ryou trust hate. Hate was such an ugly emotion…it blinded people. Ryou did not need to be blind. But his lover would always hate the pharaoh for something, (this had never been revealed). And if his Bakura hated the pharaoh, then Ryou would learn to hate the pharaoh.

Carefully, slowly, Ryou felt his fingers wrap around the handle of the dagger. Would Bakura enjoy this? Would Bakura congratulate him? Thank him? The boy tried to gauge his lover's reaction.

_No, _he thought. _Bakura would be angry with me for doing this. He wants Pharaoh Atemu to himself. No one else has the right to kill him. _

Of course. Ryou shook away all the remnants of blood lust he had acquired thinking about plunging the knife deep within the pharaoh's toned flesh. That was Bakura's duty, not his. How could he forget such a thing?

Wrenching his eyes away from the tempting figure, (one that Ryou was certain he could never forget in a lifetime of sex), the boy tried to recollect his thoughts on the plan. He still needed the Sen-Nin items. On top of that now, he needed to escape with the items and make sure none of the High Priests noticed. Difficulty rang true.

Banishing these pessimistic thoughts, Ryou continued down the corridor beyond the rooms until he came to end of the tunnel. The walls had turned blue again and he felt covered in the distinct chill of holiness. The corridor opened into an L-shaped section that when Ryou followed, (which took him far away from the rooms of the Priests and Pharaoh), lead to a definitive end point. Before him stood a cabinet made of cherry wood—imported from the north, most like—maybe seven or eight feet high. The cabinet, though tall and pleasing to the eyes, was very thin in width (thinner than Ryou's own body).

A feeling similar to being crushed entered Ryou when he placed his small hand on the streaked wood of the cabinet. The wood was solid in his hand, but the illicitness of the touch made him quiver. He should not be here by all rights of the sacred Pharaohs…

A small handle protruded from the firm surface of wood, which Ryou wrapped his hand around slowly, not wishing to seem too eager to any who might be watching, including himself. Gently, he tugged. To his great surprise, the cabinet popped open easily. It was not locked? Ryou widened his eyes in shock. Why would they keep it unlocked? Maybe they thought that the guardianship of every priest and the pharaoh would be enough safekeeping. Obviously, they had not expected circumstances like this to arise.

Avoiding any creaking hinges, Ryou pulled open both doors of the cabinet with small speed. Immediately, when the doors' shadows still loomed over the Item, Ryou saw a flash of gold in the darkness. A flash of gold? That must be his destination.

Fully open now, Ryou stared in awe at contents of the cabinet. Crushed cranberry velvet covered the inside. What appeared to be outlines of different shapes were arranged concavely into the velvet depths. Ryou guessed that all those outlines resembled each Sen-Nin item, for this is where they were stored after the killing of the High Priest. Ryou remembered hearing something about their being moved…for safekeeping, it was said. Ironic.

Only one Item remained in the cabinet. A ring with pointed spikes dangling from the end of it and the notorious eye—a sacred symbol—outlined in the center. Its pure yet tainted metallic gold glinted at him devilishly. Was this ring, this seemingly evil ring, the Item that Bakura longed for night and day? Now that he was up close to it, the whole thing seemed wasteful. Gold had no meaning to a slave.

But, if Bakura wanted it…

All Ryou had to do was touch it, take it, and run down into the depths of the dungeon to deliver his prize. With the gods' help he could do it.

Then why this fear creeping into his stomach?

Ryou tried to shake it, he really did. He blinked rapidly in succession and rubbed his elbows for warmth. But the fear remained. Ryou needed to grip it and cast it away in order to fulfill his promise. He needed to accept that this Item frightened him so utterly, not just because of the shadowy aura surrounding it, but because of what it stood for: Change. If he took this now, everything would change.

_Can I take this? Can I do something like this that will change everything? Can I? _He repeated the question to himself over and over again, hoping to attain an answer from the cowardly pits in his stomach. _Can I? _Could he?

_Yes. Yes I can do this. Because…I really…do truly…love you, Bakura. _

A pale, bony hand snatched the gold. Piercing through the quiet stillness was a screech that came from the item itself. It glowed and gasped in the night, as if screaming for its proper owner. Just when Ryou thought he was going to be caught, (or thrown onto his backside, whichever), the Item died down. Suddenly it was just a piece of gold again, hard and heavy in his hands, weighing him down with each second of standing still.

If standing still was the problem, he could fix that. Turning away from the cabinet at an alarming rate, Ryou bolted down the corridor, retracing his footsteps. He no longer noticed the blue of the walls, or the words in hieroglyphics that he could no read, or the pharaoh and his servants, sitting idly by as he stole their most precious possession.

However, it was not as easy as before. The Pharaoh and his Priests had detected a disturbance and were visibly showing signs of it. Pharaoh Atemu tossed back and forth on his bed, grumbling to himself and thrashing about. The Black-haired man no longer silently moved his lips, but mumbled violently to himself as the scale glowed in the background. The bald-headed man sat in awe, gazing at his ankh as it glowed and levitated itself off his dresser. The sickly man in bed began shouting distant threats in a tongue Ryou did not understand, his eye bursting forth a blinding light. Finally, the woman sitting in prayer before her protesting necklace had tears streaming down her closed eyes, while she moved her lips, oblivious to the glow of her jewelry.

Ryou witnessed this all in a flash as he ran for his life out of the Pharaoh's Chamber. He just wanted to deliver this heavy burden to his love, so it could all be over finally and they could escape.

Outside the corridor, Ryou saw and heard the shadows of the next guard shift coming toward their post in a manner of camaraderie. Their laughter boomed around the walls, frightening Ryou and giving him extra speed.

For the rest of his short life, Ryou distinctly remembered being chased all the way down to the dungeon. He fully recalled feeling the hot trail of pursuit behind him as he ran faster than he had ever run for the open, waiting arms of his lover. But in truth, no one chased him. No one even saw him coming or could ever lie and say they detected it earlier in hindsight.

_Bakura…_Ryou thought desperately, warding off the imaginary men with swords lashing out behind him.

_Bakura, I need you. Bakura…I have your Item…Bakura! _

_---------------------------------_

"Damn, damn, damn…"

Bakura stood in the darkness in front of the back wall in his cell. "Damn!" He cursed this wall and threw one violent punch at it, chipping off some solid pieces of stone along the way. Unfortunately, now his knuckles bled freely, adding pain to the revolting mixture of emotions in his stomach.

"WHERE IS HE?" Bakura shouted to the ceiling in anguish, ripping out a few strands of his hair in the process. Damn, that boy could worry him sometimes. The thief king knew that his lover should be back by now if he had done it at all. Had he done it? Could he trust his love with such a responsibility? There were way too many questions, damn it!

Tossing the white strands of hair in front him, (which went a distance of six inches before floating annoyingly to the ground), Bakura stomped to the other end of his cell. Alright, damn it, alright. He needed to calm down. If Ryou did it he did it, and if he did not…well, then he did not. Bakura just hoped Ryou had enough sense not to return empty handed. The tomb robber was not good at controlling his rage and if he saw that the boy had failed…well, he would be full of rage. And that was the very problem.

Running random thoughts through his brain, Bakura began to pace around the small length of his cell. Back and forth. Ryou could handle this. He was a tough boy.

"Hnh. Tough." Bakura snorted.

_Although_, a part of him that always stood up for Ryou even when he wanted to strangle the boy rationalized, _he could handle you. That must count for something._

Bakura nodded, agreeing with this.

But the Sen-Nin items were something completely different. In order to steal them, one needed to have courage, mettle! Bravery! The blessing of a robber! Did Ryou have all that? As much as it discouraged him, Bakura had to relent and admit that now, he did not.

The boy had his redeeming qualities, as well. He was kindhearted, (Bakura snorted again), and knew how to heal someone. The scars on his arms and legs were proof enough of that. _How does that help a thief?_ It did not.

Other traits of Ryou…

Right. He was quiet. Sleek. He could run and make practically no sound whatsoever. Plus, he did not have the burden of voice which often led to a thief's demise. A single yelp at the wrong time could mean certain death. Exactly. A thief needed to be quiet. Ryou had that. Yes…Ryou could do this…certainly.

But, you needed more than silence to steal a Sen-Nin item.

Bakura leaned up against another wall and smashed both his fists into it, lightly. "Damn you, Ryou…Forcing me to worry over you like some doting mother…I worry for no one except myself! Damn you…"

In the darkness there, the tomb robber could have sworn he heard something like feet on stone making their way to him. He lifted his head. Ryou? The sounds came closer. It had to be Ryou…who else?

Sure enough, before Bakura could even gather his thoughts on the matter, a white blur flung itself on the cell door and thrust the key into the hole. A panting, sweating Ryou opened the cell door and fell on his knees.

Bakura ran over. "Have you got them?" It was the first thing he said.

Panting on all fours, Ryou reached into his cloak. Slowly, he pulled out an item wrapped in violet silk. As if presenting a sword to a knight, he put the item in both his hands and raised it above his head eagerly.

Bakura snatched the item and threw over the wraps of silk. Indeed, sitting in his palm was the Sen-Nin Ring shining and shrieking in all its glory.

The thief stared at the item a long time, smirking evilly. Then, he threw back his head and bellowed a laugh of old. Finally! The Sen-Nin Item which had been so unfairly stolen from him was now again in his clutches. Freedom was imminent now. The pharaoh would lose this battle that eh thought he ended a long time ago. Victory would be his. He never failed the same mission twice…

Looking down, he cared to notice Ryou. Still on his knees, panting with his head down. Ryou…good Ryou. Precious Ryou. His Ryou.

Setting the Sen-Nin Ring gently on the floor, (it was covered in silk, so he deemed it acceptable that the item should touch the ground of an unholy place), Bakura moved toward Ryou. He placed both his hands on Ryou's thin shoulders and said, "Well done, my love. Well done…" Ecstasy shot through him at the thought of Ryou triumphing. Such a good boy…such an obedient boy…such a kind boy…

Timidly, Ryou raised his head. Immediately upon seeing the sight of Ryou's lovely, sweaty face, Bakura felt arousal wash over him rapidly like a familiar wave of lust. He wanted Ryou. Now.

Kneeling down on his own knees so that their faces were almost touching, Bakura whispered to his love, "Very well done, Ryou. I am proud of you." He thought about this next statement. Was this something a tomb robber should say? To any one? Oh, to hell with it. He felt like it, damn it.

"And I love you…" he whispered, moving his face towards Ryou's ear, while running his hands along the boy's back. Moving him so that their lips locked into a heated kiss, Bakura began to strip himself and his lover. Tonight he would go easy on Ryou if that's what the boy wanted. Tonight he would do what Ryou wanted, with the Sen-Nin Ring glowing on the floor next to them.

Bakura tried to decide, in the next few seconds before he completely abandoned all thought, whether he meant the last words he said. He supposed he did. Moderately. The boy was…unique, in his own way.

But what was "love"? Bakura hated "love". He mocked "love". So, in some ways he did not "_love_" Ryou. And yet…a part of him almost wanted to.

Foolishness. Bakura shoved these thoughts away and concentrated on the supple flesh before him. "Love." Men died for "love". Bakura would not die for "love". No matter how delectable Ryou's flesh tasted…no matter how much he liked when the boy whimpered his name like that as he ran his nails over his tingling skin…

No matter what.

-------------------------

"Summon the Royal Guard! Have them search the entire palace! Tell them _not_ to come back empty-handed!" Blue eyes flashed dangerously at the end of this statement, warning them not to disobey him. _Or else._ It was silently added.

Seto stormed angrily about the floor, clearly plotting, clearly seething. The other Priests stood by him, watching him, thinking, some silently praying. Isis was in the process of trying to call to the lost Item with the powers of her own. That never worked.

Yami sighed. From his place on the throne, he thought he had been dealt the most responsibility over the matter. And what a humiliating matter it was. Someone—an unknown someone, nonetheless—barging into his sleeping chambers and stealing the last owner-less Sen-Nin Item that lay just beyond their beds. Such humiliation was not heard of in the entire kingdom until now. As usual, Yami was the one to suffer from it.

_By the Gods…_he thought, resting his head in his hands. _What is to be done?_ He was not lamenting. No, no pharaohs did not lament. He was distraught. That had to be the proper word.

"Was not someone in the entire _palace _awake?" Seto yelled suddenly.

The priests did not readily answer him. Yami lifted his head. How dare Seto blame this on them? He was just as responsible as they were. But he left it. Right now, the pharaoh found that he had not the strength to argue with Seto.

He was so tired…so very tired. Sleep came sparsely these days. Yet, there seemed to be something else bothering his sleep patterns…lately he had felt that the tiredness generated from his very bones and spread all over his body accordingly. How could he fight something in his bones? The usual magical remedies did not help…what the hell was the matter with him? So tired…Yami almost fell asleep on that very, unfairly obligatory chair…so tired…

"Pharaoh!" A squeaky voice roused him.

A tri-colored head shot up, earrings and spangles, (the few he had put on in the rush), jingling with the movement. "…Yes?" He asked his vizier. All seven of those in his company were staring at him expectantly.

"We asked quite a few minutes ago whether or not you had a solution to this rather distressing problem at hand?" Siamun's eyes darted around from underneath his ceremonial headdress and above the facial covering he used. Yami had come to hate those darting eyes lately, always on the move, always planning, always expecting, always demanding…

"I do not," Yami admitted. "However, I do not think the proper plan is to deal meaningless punishment on all those affiliated with the incident." He looked right at Seto when he said this. The blue-eyed priest merely narrowed his eyes and stared right back. Of course Seto blamed him for this. He would blame Yami for the apocalypse if it came at the right moment. A few of the other priests nodded their heads in agreement.

Isis stepped forward and kneeled down to face the pharaoh. "What would you have me do, My Lord?" she asked, rather desperately he thought.

Immediately the images of the night came back to him. He remembered falling asleep finally, (after much undesired persuasion for his weary but adamantly conscious mind), and dreaming of something. Yami closed his eyes briefly to remember the dream. It had been of…something…he remembered darkness and fire. People were screaming. Blood. A dagger in his hand. And then…white…What had he dreamt? Alas, it was not important. Yami shook the ideas from his mind. Soon his dreams had turned to one thing only: Bakura. White hair cascading down his back, draped in a brown cloak, Sen-Nin Ring in hand, Bakura had dashed through the sleeping chambers making fools of them all.

Why had he dreamt of Bakura? That thief was locked away in the dungeons, never to see the light of day again. Surely the Tomb Robber could not have stolen the Item, of course…was this correct?

He turned to Isis. "What did you dream of tonight, Priestess Isis?"

Still kneeling, only not quite as low as before, she said, "I was not asleep, Pharaoh. I was in prayer. The gods were revealing to me the course of the future—a foreboding one it was—when suddenly a saw man. He was running with the Sen-Nin Ring while severe pain coursed through me…I do not remember anything else until I ended my prayer and awoke to find you all in front of the Bound and Sealed."

"What did the man look like?" Yami wished he had her eyes to focus on when speaking to her. He found it difficult to concentrate when talking to someone without their eyes. Should he have been used to this, however? Being a pharaoh, barely anyone looked him in the eye.

"Well…" her voice wavered. "I do not know if this s correct logic or correct fact, but the man…he looked like the Thief Bakura."

The other priests nodded. Kalim stepped forward and genuflected towards his ruler alongside Isis. "My Lord, I too was in meditation. I also saw the Thief Bakura presented to me by the gods." They never referred to him as a Thief "King". To do so would be blasphemous. There was only one king in Egypt, a fine solitary god. Though unfortunately a very tired one…

"Are we all in agreement that Bakura is the one we saw in our visions?" Yami inquired. Murmurs and nods of agreement answered him. Everyone except Seto was in agreement.

"Do you not agree, Priest Seto?" Yami raised an eyebrow in his direction. Where exactly had the lean, slightly devious man been that night? It had taken him a while to appear by the Bound and Sealed after the rest of them had awoke to marvel at the mystery. Obviously he had not been in his room.

The priest bristled. A shadow crossed over blue. "I was not in prayer or in sleep. So I cannot answer your question."

"Where were you, then?" Yami asked.

Seto lifted his head, defiant and eager for argument. "I see not how that is relevant to this conversation or this discussion. It is not I who have stolen the items, you all say it is Bakura. But might I remind you that this is impossible? Bakura is locked away in the pharaoh's deepest dungeons. How could he possibly free himself from that pit of hell, slink around the palace to the sleeping chambers, then to Bound and Sealed—the very cabinet that houses the Items, which no outsider knows of—to steal the Ring? All without being caught?" He flourished his speech with flicks of his hands and tosses of his head. The end of his protestations came with an unreasonably extreme question.

"Do you need more proof, or are you all too preoccupied by prayer to answer for yourselves?"

At this, most of the priests turned slightly cold. They all knew that Seto believed prayer to be a waste of time, (rather ironic for a priest, but he was chosen not for his holiness). They wanted to rebuke Seto, but they dared not to elicit an argument in front of their lord.

Only Akhenaden—who had actually risen from his bed for this discussion—responded. "Prayer is a priest's communication with the gods," he said, appearing behind Seto suddenly. "It is something sacred, certainly not a thing to mock. Perhaps if you had been in prayer, Priest Seto, then we might be able to ascertain clearer answers on this subject." The raspy voice echoed over the palace compartment. Seto had a retort for that, too, but Yami silenced him quickly.

"Alright. That's enough. Arguments get us nowhere. None of us can explain the visions presented to us, so why bother trying? The important issue is that we find the thief…" He gulped after this word. Thief. That word could only sound like "Bakura" now. "…and retrieve the Item…" His finish was not as strong as he would have liked because of the gulp, but the pharaoh knew his message was taken strongly.

Shada stepped forward, not bothering to bow for he spoke to everyone present. "I agree with Priest Seto that it does not make sense for Bakura to be the one responsible. Although I was not in prayer, meditation or sleep at the time, so I cannot account for what you saw, I think it best we try to find someone who is a more logical candidate."

Yami nodded to the priest, glad for someone's eyes to gaze in that were not coated in hatred or masked by a Sen-Nin item. Who else would want to steal the items? No one in the palace knew of their power. Yami tossed his bangs to the side in frustration. It made no sense…his mind worked furiously to think of the possibilities.

"If not Bakura, then who?" asked Siamun, who by rights had no say in the conversation, regardless, (yet who also managed to get a word in every conversation, regardless).

"Someone would have to be crazy to even attempt such a thing," Seto remarked, signs of disgust visible in the shadows of his face.

_Or in love. _Thought Yami. He had come to recognize both love and insanity as one in the same. Not that he had ever been in love…

Suddenly the palace doors barged open. Audible shouts and screams were heard from the outside. Yami and the others immediately rose to attention at the red face guard before them, trained from the night's events as well as years of past experiences.

"My Lords! Please come quick! The Thief Bakura is escaping!"

At once, they heard shouts of maniacal laughter that they all knew so well. Yami's violet eyes widened as he ran on stumbling feet with his consorts to meet the face he knew so well. Bakura…could not…was not…he…the Ring…it…

And yet it was all true at the sight of Bakura's grinning face, running through the palace with the Ring in one hand. Bullets of dark magic flew out at the guards, striking them invisibly. Blood gushed from unseen wounds and splattered the thief victoriously, it seemed, to him. Countless bodies lay in his wake, so many dead.

"Bakura…" Yami's mouth stumbled to produce the sound, the three syllables that had haunted his thoughts for his entire imprisonment. The thief ran through the palace, in high pursuit, body the same as Yami remembered, except for a few scars along the visible parts of his arms and legs. While the rest of the priests were running, shouting, trying to fight his shadow magic with their own Items, Yami felt like he was floating. _Not…possible…_

"My Lord!" shouted a wounded guard, noticing Yami's lethargy. "Stop him!" _This man is fatally wounded…_he thought. _While I stand here thinking…_No. He would not allow this. The pharaoh shook himself and ran to the front of the chase. He could think about the possibilities later. Now he needed to stop Bakura.

"Tomb Robber!" called Yami, seeing his back very much out of reach, almost out of the palace, from where he stood. "What are you thinking? This is insanity! You cannot hope to escape from this place!" Yami gazed at the running form in front of him, now turning…form? Did not he mean forms? There was someone with him…someone with white hair and a cloak draped around his slender, pale figure.

There were…two Bakuras? Two Bakuras? Two? Yami shook his head. No, no there was only one Bakura. The other was just a boy that looked like him, his figure was so very different from Bakura's when under close scrutiny. By the Gods…Yami realized that was the figure he had seen in his dream.

Bakura turned around to face him. Misty blue eyes saturated with mania met his fervent gaze. He stood at the door to the palace, running still, but talking. "Cannot hope, Pharaoh? It looks as if I already have!" Sure enough, with two more steps the thief king was out the door and running on the parapet at the edge of the palace.

Bakura could not believe this was happening. The cold early morning Egyptian light washed over his slightly pale face and arms, (he had spent too long in that hellish dungeon), and the fresh breeze settled on his skin. And now to finish, he would defeat the pharaoh at this running game. Sheer joy gushed through his pumping veins.

The boy at his side was wide-eyed and panting. "Keep going, Ryou, keep running," he encouraged. The boy turned to him and nodded vigorously. Ryou was a little frightened—so much excitement, this was definitely illegal, and all those poor people his lover had killed—but he was with Bakura. Nothing could happen to him when he was with Bakura. Besides, he was not nearly as frightened as he was when he had stolen the Sen-Nin Ring.

Pleased with his lover's acceptance of the situation, Bakura grinned and turned around to face the horde of people following him. They were at the very edge of the parapet, high above the sands below them. Yet still, the pharaoh and his followers were far behind them.

Yami could not believe he had let Bakura get that far ahead of him…wait. Why was he stopped? Unconsciously Yami slowed down to hear him while everyone else plunged forward.

Bakura gripped tightly onto the Sen-Nin Ring. Holding it in the air as high as his arm could reach, he shouted at the top of his lungs, "You thought you could defeat me, Pharaoh? Foolishness! You can never defeat me! I am the Great Thief King Bakura!"

Behind him, Ryou clung desperately to his arm. Alright…so what was his plan now? The ground below them looked like so much of a drop…and why was he letting their pursuers get closer? Ryou looked up at his lover's face. It seemed that any hints of sanity were gone. Still, the boy was not afraid. He trusted Bakura. Completely.

The tomb robber was in the middle of a boisterous laugh that rang out over the entire kingdom. The pharaoh stopped completely in his tracks as he suddenly realized what Bakura was going to do. Also, the sight before his eyes was one to marvel at in inexplicable wonder. The sight of Bakura standing in front of a sunrise, where the red light reflected off his paleness and the blood on his figure making him look almost…inhuman. Yami felt his jaw drop.

"I will return, Pharaoh!" The creature shouted at him. "We will meet again! You may have beaten me once, but never again! Never! Do you understand? I will NEVER give you that chance! Until then, guard the Sen-Nin items well!" At this, he smirked and said in a lower tone, "You never learn, do you?"

Turning to Ryou, Bakura nodded. Ryou closed his eyes and nodded. His lover was insane after all. But he trusted him. Of course he trusted him.

Ryou let himself be swept into Bakura's arms in a latching embrace. Then the thief king jumped from the parapet, hoping to land on the soft sands below. In the air, Ryou closed his eyes, not wishing to see what the sky looked like falling away from you. In the darkness, it felt like he was suspended in time with the one person that mattered, covering him and protecting him to the very last.

Consequently, Ryou was almost sad when their bodies crashed onto the sands. At the sudden pain, his eyes burst open. Bakura quickly got off of him and helped him to his feet. "We must go, Ryou. Now! No time!" Ryou felt like he could not breathe…he could not breathe…his lungs were drowning in something, they were not working…he could not breathe…_oh, Ra, let me breathe so I can run with Bakura…_But his lungs would not work. Again, his lover swept him into his arms and began running across the desert half carrying, half embracing his poor, strangled Ryou.

"We're free, Ryou," he whispered in the boy's ear. Through the vacuum that had defeated his lungs, Ryou managed a smile.

Freedom. At last. Life. At last.

From the parapet, guards halted looking down at the retreating figure of Bakura.

"Don't just stand there, you idiots! After him!" Seto yelled. Not a single person moved. It seemed that Bakura had eluded them. Once again.

"It's no use, Seto," Shada called from his side. "We must train to fight another day." Seto stared at him, masking his incredulity. Apparently, he disagreed.

Yami stood at very edge of the parapet, focused on the imprint in the sand where Bakura and that boy had landed. Who was that boy? Yami had never seen him before, except in his dream. Judging by his stature, he was clearly a slave. A slave? What was Bakura doing with a slave? How had he healed himself like that? All of this made little sense; Yami's mind felt like a sword that had been folded and hammered too many times as to make it dull. He needed time to mull all this over.

Standing in the early morning light, Yami faced all his followers. Disappointment showed plainly on their faces. Now that Bakura was back, the kingdom would once again wallow in a state of disarray. Thieves and murders on the loose, defiled tombs, unsafe towns, torture devices the only means of maintaining peace, which made no sense whatsoever…all Yami's fault. His subjects stared at him, hoping to receive some kind of hope in all this.

Violet eyes stared back at them, unsure of what to say. "I…" he began. Silence met his voice. That was not the way to go. "This kingdom will not suffer from this. We have defeated him once, we can do it again. Have faith. The gods protect us." Sure, it was sad. Sure, it was unbelievable because of Bakura's previous monologue. Sure, it was untrue. But he had risen to the challenge. It was all anyone could expect of him.

A few more minutes of silence, and then Kalim stepped forward and shouted, "There are wounded men! I want all those dead put in the embalming preparations room! Gather up all the healers! All those wounded will receive the best care possible! All those fatally wounded, do whatever you can. Remember that kindness heals as much as a blessed salve!" Immediately, the guards and followers scrambled to carry out his commands. Only the High Priests, the vizier, and the pharaoh remained on the parapet.

Seto just stared at him, eyes narrowed in hatred and disgust. If there was ever a time for Seto to hate him, it would have been most warranted at that time. "This is on your hands, Pharaoh," he spat. Then he whipped his cape around and stormed off the parapet to help Kalim with the wounded.

He stopped halfway there. Turning slightly around in his tracks, he looked at Yami with one deadly blue eye. The pharaoh felt that eye pierce his heart momentarily. "You know, that thief was right about one thing. You never learn." That said, the disgruntled yet agile priest continued the rest of the way.

Akhenaden remained only a short while longer. He was still very weak, and now that Bakura had returned the old man had reason to fear for his life. So, he called upon a few servants to assist him back to his bed. He shuffled off behind Seto, wobbling unsteadily.

Shada passed by Yami, bowed briefly, and said only one fatal sentence, "I will work harder, my Pharaoh." Somehow those words stung more viciously than Seto's. Yami had failed the believers like Shada. And Mahado…his eyes glazed over.

Isis and Siamun remained. After a few minutes, Isis rushed over to her liege. Yami was surprised that she had not even bothered to bow as she usually did without restraint. Instead, the priestess placed an understanding hand on his sun-darkened shoulder and said, "I do not blame you," in a strong voice. It was almost as if she commanded him not to take responsibility. Useless. There was only one person to blame.

When Isis left, Siamun stood by Yami as he gazed into the newborn sun searching for answers to the questions burning inside him. "You know…" began the old man. "Isis told me that the boy with Bakura was the one you witnessed in your dreams. Is it he who stole the Sen-Nin Ring?"

"Yes. It was him." Listlessness emanated off of him in a dark cloud.

Siamun thought then said, "Interesting. The Sen-Nin items, as you well know, choose who should carry them. That boy looked like nothing but a mere slave. How can you explain how the Item accepted that boy's hands to wield the Ring?"

Yami had not even thought about that. "I cannot." Another pressing matter. "I shall consider it later, Vizier. Right now there are wounded men to attend to." He turned his back on the panoramic view of the desert. Beauty would wait. Everything would wait. There was so much to do…Yami looked for the familiar pressing tiredness in his bones.

Amazingly, he found that it was not there.

--------------------------

The sun. It was a ball of fire blazing high above their heads like a defining glow of determination. Both Ryou and Bakura were sweaty and tired. It must have been around noon. They had been walking nonstop for hours.

Ryou had known exhaustion before. However, he had never known the power of the sun to be so brutal before. If only he could rest a bit…long ago had he finished the bottle of water in this pouch that he had brought to sway passersby into believing him an innocent, (_oh, I'm just out for a nightly clean…_). He turned to the man beside him. Bakura sweated, but seemed unaffected by the heat. Alas, his lover was an amazing man…

Bakura was too busy plotting to notice discomfort. He could bask in the sunlight for ages without feeling bothered. These unrelenting desert sands were what he had grown up with as a child without a village to call home. More importantly, the subjects on his mind were of revenge. Yes, freedom was his and that was a blessing in itself. Now what was he going to do with this blessing?

Damn it. The boy on his side was lagging behind again. There was no time to be tired. He turned to Ryou. "Keep moving," he instructed, trying to entice a wave to energy in him. Ryou looked at him and smiled his classic, modest smile. _Whatever you say, Bakura._ And yet weariness showed in the sweat pouring from his irreproachable features. The boy was tired. He needed rest. Their destination would wait…maybe just a few more minutes.

"Let's rest a bit." Bakura grasped Ryou's thin elbow and propped him up against a sand dune. Noon was always the worst of the heat. They would move on again in about a half hour…maybe when the sun was not quite so high.

Ryou looked glad to be resting. He panted and put up a frail hand in defense against the sun. Bakura merely sat next to him to wait. There really was no time…if they were going to get anywhere by nightfall they needed to move. Still…he could not deny the look of pure exhaustion on his lover's face as he sweated out the liquid held loosely within his thin body. Maybe Ryou just needed water? There certainly was none of that. By nightfall they needed to reach the nearest town. That would hydrate poor Ryou.

If only they could move a little faster…

Oh well. At least Bakura had the Sen-Nin Ring…how exactly did that help him, again? It could not reproduce water for his love. Yes, but it would offer many prosperous opportunities when they reached the town just a little bit to the west. Yes…Bakura smirked as he envisioned screaming faces, choking on their own blood, begging him for mercy yet receiving none…

Suddenly he felt something warm and clammy settling on his shoulder. He turned to see Ryou sleeping soundly with his head resting peacefully on his left side. No.

"No, no Ryou…you must not sleep. We will not get anywhere in sleep! No!" He shook the boy. All fruitless. Ryou was dead asleep. Damn, damn, damn. Bakura growled low in his throat. There was no time for this foolishness!

Letting out a deep roar—(which did nothing to rouse Ryou)—Bakura tried to calm himself. After all, the sun was still very much centered in the sky. He had not fulfilled his own promise yet. Give it a little more time…a little more time…Time they did not have…

The sun was behind them. Finally. Night had begun to fall. Bakura's spirits fought against the restraints in his stomach. Was this a victory, then?

_What victory? _He shouted at himself. _We're not even in the next town over!_ Ryou had had to stop numerous times along their journey. On time, the boy had fallen flat on his face during their walk, unable to rise again. That time they needed to rest for over an hour. This whole thing was taking much longer than Bakura first anticipated. And that angered him.

But alas…nightfall. Soon the temperatures would be freezing and below. Bakura could already see stars appearing in the hazy sky. They needed to find a place of maximal warm quickly. Otherwise they would be stuck defenseless in the cold. Ryou could not stand that, either.

"Come, my love." Finding a spot that looked surrounded by dunes, Bakura directed the weak boy to a temporary safe haven. At least if anyone had been sent from the palace to find them, the two would never be seen. Sand dunes framed them on every side. "We'll sleep here for the night." It seemed the only logical thing to do.

Ryou immediately laid himself down in the middle of the plateau-like region, unprotected against the creeping night air. Bakura was about to cold him for doing so when he realized the attraction his lover held for him in that position…so vulnerable…so exposed…

Today had been a victory, Bakura supposed. They were free from that wretched palace, (from its dungeons and slave life). And the pharaoh had had his own impudence thrown in his face. A distinct joy levitated his internal organs. That alone was something to partake in.

Partake? A victory celebration? Again Bakura gazed at the susceptible figure before him…yes, partake…yes…

The thief moved and sat himself on Ryou's stomach, straddling the boy's hips. Weak eyes opened and stared at Bakura's own in tiredness. Indeed, Ryou's companion never grew tired of sex. Not that Ryou minded. They were both out in the open now. The very liberty of their situation aroused him greatly. He never knew autonomy to be such an exhilarating experience…

Bakura shifted his position needlessly, causing a slight groan from the boy beneath. "Tomorrow is the day we move quickly, Ryou. You understand?" The former slave nodded. Ryou knew he had moved altogether too slowly that day. But he was unprepared. Tomorrow he knew what was expected of him and he would do it with fervor and willingness. Anything to please Bakura, to gain his love and companionship…

---------------------------

The sun officially set behind them. Now it was dark out and quite cold…Ryou began to shiver.

The tomb robber leaned down from his high position to where their bodies were almost touching, covering the shivering form with his own body heat. Ryou smiled. It was warmth when they touched like that…Bakura gently placed his lips on top of Ryou's, engulfing his thin lips in succulence. Soon, (as always with the thief), the kiss turned to ravishing as Bakura grew hungry for more touch.

Strong hands traveled up the lithe formation of ribs that Ryou sported. Slowly, with his own feet, Bakura began to spread open the boys exhausted legs, and position readily. Moving out of the kiss to give them time to breathe, Bakura leaned into an ear and whispered, "I love you," for the second time in his life. Inexpressible joy gushed through Ryou's veins. He said it…it must be true now. His lover licked the cold shell and began to undress.

Later on in the evening, Ryou and Bakura lay wrapped up in each other, hopelessly entangled in a mess of limbs that seemed connected to the same solitary body no matter how a person looked at it. Ryou had long since fallen into a peaceful sleep, feeling protected in the arms of his lover. Tomorrow he would not fail him…no…tomorrow was the good day. That he promised to himself in the last minutes before sleep settled in.

Bakura, however, lay awake. Uneasiness had overtaken him suddenly. He had proclaimed to love the boy again tonight. Without even thinking about it. That was unacceptable. He could not "love" anyone! The first time he said it, alright, he was under the influence of excitement due to the Item resting beside him for the first time in months. But this time…had he really meant it?

"Love". So preposterous. He could not…could not? Had he said "could" and not "would"? What did that mean?

Damn it all. Damn this whole fucking thing. Bakura scrambled out of the blissful arrangement of body parts he and Ryou kept. He strode around the perimeter of the dunes, naked in the night freeze.

_Why?_ The same question. _Why have I let myself be taken over by this boy? _This boy…who lay unprotected without Bakura standing closely nearby. This boy…who refused to speak more than a word to him. This boy…who so completely captured his waking thoughts…

Damn. "DAMN!" He screamed to the night air. Ryou did not stir. Only the solitude—no, the _companionship_—of his voice rang back at him. Why did this bother him so much? So what if he might actually…love Ryou? It did not matter! Did it?

_Yes it does…the boy is such a nuisance at times. _Right. How could he forget the events of that day when all his love could do was stumble in frailty to receive a face full of sand? How pathetic was that?

And yet…that was not the cause of his emotions. It was this…love business. Love was dangerous. True? Maybe. Maybe not, as well. But definitely dangerous. It was a danger he could not afford here in this life. This life of endless retribution for crimes committed against his race. This life that demand full concentration and constant pain. Pain kept your mind sharp, after all. A life of privilege leads to a pampered psyche. Such a psyche can never deal ultimate vengeance. No. Bakura needed to stay sharp to remain in the perfect mindset to kill the pharaoh.

That was the only thing that mattered.

Where did Ryou fit into all that? This life? This revenge? This need of constant pain? Bakura could only think of one way.

Then it was settled. He needed to do this as soon as possible to avoid any more setbacks. Tomorrow. Tomorrow? Yes tomorrow. Tomorrow…that divine day.

Ryou…mist blue eyes settled back on his lover. Thin strands of white hair were scattered all over the boy's face. His body was twisted from the force with which Bakura had stormed off. He looked so completely innocent, something that had intoxicated the tomb robber from the first moments of his tender touch. He remembered that moment in the darkness when he felt Ryou's touch. At that moment his heart had turned. The thief king knew it. But…he needed his heart the way it was before that touch. He needed to turn it back. That was the only way to succeed with the life he had chosen for himself.

The thief settled back in, folding the boy in his arms. Vaguely, Ryou opened his eyes and gazed at his lover. A small question appeared on his face. _Are you feeling alright?_

Bakura stroked the soft white hair, coaxing him back to sleep. Ryou soon saw that there was nothing to worry about in his lover, so sleep returned to him. Rest was what he needed for tomorrow anyway, the boy reasoned.

The thief sighed upon seeing unconsciousness regain control over Ryou. This needed to be done. He had been postponing it for a while now. It was the right thing to do, for both Ryou and himself. Meaningless lives all wound up the same, anyway. Bakura was determined not to make his life meaningless. That's why he did this.

But…if this was the right thing to do…then why these tears? Tears, what tears? Bakura reached a hand up to his face and drew back with moisture settling on his fingers. Strange acceptance reached into his heart like spindly fingers, warming the organ temporarily. Tears. Damn it all.

The thief decided to let the tears go. Whatever. Instead, he rested his own head on top of Ryou's and let a cold, unthinking consciousness settle over his mind. He did not sleep that night, but for the rest of his life he could not remember anything he thought about at the same time.

----------------------------

"Why give yourself up like this, Tomb Robber?"

Bakura was mumbling to himself. The sun had risen again. Morning at last. The tomb robber could not remember falling asleep…but he had thought of nothing provoking. It mattered not.

Ryou was just waking up. Bakura watched as his lover stretched and sat up, searching for his lover in silence with a questioning look on his face. Finally, his eyes rested on the indifferent figure of the thief he had come to know completely. A smile warmed the boy's features.

"Get up and get dressed. We have much distance to cover today." Bakura was already dressed. Ryou guessed he had been plotting for a few hours. He had that look in his eye. Nodding quickly—a sure sign of determination—Ryou reached for his discarded clothing.

Apathy had nestled into the folds of Bakura's emotions. There it lay. _How fortunate_, he thought.

Ryou dressed quickly, eager to start on their journey. He wanted to get to the next town and see what kind of people lived there. It was possible someone knew him there; he had lived in all sorts of places as a child. Maybe someone even remembered poor Amane…Did he want that? Maybe. Either way, Ryou decided to leave it up to chance what happened there.

Bakura had his back facing the boy. Ryou did not understand why. So he moved closer to his love and ran his hands over the strong shoulders he knew so well. Bakura smiled, turning around to face the boy. A smile? Happiness bolted through Ryou. He loved seeing him smile like that.

Bakura searched Ryou's face for any signs of distrust. He found none. Good. The thief then pulled Ryou into a deep hug. An actual hug. Ryou was surprised—Bakura never liked to hug unless it led to some type of love making. But he went with it. If this is what his lover wanted, Ryou loved the feeling of Bakura's arms wrapped around him. A contented expression smoothed his face.

Suddenly, warm breath slid over the boy's skin. "I love you," the thief said softly. Third time in his life. Ryou curled his own arms around the man and leaned forward. In Bakura's ear, he whispered in a soft voice, "I love you, too."

Speech? Bakura was shocked for a moment. But the apathy returned quickly, allowing him to notice the sounds as merely a given. A distraction. Bakura moved one hand from around the boy into his cloak.

One movement. _Shlck._

Blood began to drip from the corners of Ryou's thin, kiss swollen mouth. Currently his lover's hand reached clear through his stomach, grasping tightly onto his master's dagger, drenched in blood.

"You are my little sacrifice."

Bakura held onto one of Ryou's shoulders and pulled his arm out of his lover's gut. A lifeless body fell to the ground gracelessly. A contented expression still graced the boy's features, as if he had died accepting the death as a happy duty, although that was certainly untrue. Ryou had never even seen it coming. Perhaps it was that happiness written all over his face that frightened Bakura so. The corpse, bloodied and motionless, with a gaping hole in his abdomen, looked eerie with the mixture of childlike joy and vicious death displayed synonymously on the same body.

Covered in Ryou's hot blood, Bakura settled the dagger into his cloak. He reassured himself by feeling for the Sen-Nin Ring, which still graced his side. He had made a necklace for it using some of the silks Ryou had obtained. Bakura no longer associated the Ring with Ryou. That part of his life was over now.

Facing the sun and the brunt of the wind, hoping to find something he needed an answer to in the picturesque vision of Egypt he dwelled within, Bakura attempted to find his heart beneath all the apathy. Had it turned back, yet? The boy was dead. It had every reason to return to normality.

Leaving the cadaver exactly where it had fallen, not bothering to offer any respect for the journey into the afterlife, Bakura headed into the sun to await the turning of his heart. Strangely, however, it never would. Years would pass. A lifetime. And it never would.

Sacrifice. Ryou…Bakura held a hand to his head. Pain shot through him. The apathy was wearing off. By Ra he was in pain…damn it…though it was not a pain that made him double over and vomit on the side of the trail as he had done in the dungeon. This was a more absolute pain. One he would remain a prisoner to forever.

Bakura found something quite odd as he walked into the sun on the day he killed his lover. Sacrifice meant nothing to him. It was the truth. And yet…perhaps it was this sacrifice that proved to be the most meaningful thing in his life.

_The End_

A/N: Yes, I know. Bakura is not the kindest. So, how many of you were expecting that ending? I wasn't sure if I was making it like a twist or something…eh? What's that you say? The mob? The mob it cries for blood? Aww, I'm sorry you guys. But think about it. That was the best way for the story to end. Would anyone like a plushie to abate their sadness? (hands out Seto plushie) Better?

Sorry for the length of this chapter, by the way. Heh, imagine. I once had this entire thing as a one-shot. Ehe? Well. Anyway, I know it got long in the middle when Ryou was stealing the Ring and stuff. I know that usually the Millennium Items are kept in that little hieroglyphic figure with the impressions of each Item, but isn't that stored in the catacombs or something? I thought about doing that, but no matter how hard I tried I could think of a reason why Ryou or Bakura would know that they were there. So I totally made something up that's not in the manga and never will be. Don't hate me, please!

Thanks for reading this story, you guys! I hope you enjoyed it! I will get back to my other story soon enough, I promise. Still, to fallen-angel-of-repression, happy birthday! Heh, I know that was like a month ago. But still. It's dedicated to you.

Thanks again guys! Until next time, happy reading!

--Seto'swhiterose


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